A  flower  shot  down  amid  the  crowd.     Page  19. 


Latter-Day  Sweethearts 


By 
MRS.  BURTON    HARRISON 

Author  of  "A  Bachelor  Maid,"  "The  Carlyles,"  "The  Circle  of 
a  Century"  "The  Anglomaniacs"  Etc. 

"La  Duchesse.— 'L'amour  est  le  fleau  du  monde.    Tous 
DOS  maux  nous  viennent  de  lui.'  , 

"Le  Docteur. — 'C'est  le  seul  qui  les  guerisse." 

— "Le  Duel,    Henri  Lavedan, 

r-riZe*     C  i  f2, 

• 


NEW  YORK 

EMPIRE  BOOK  COMPANY 
Publishers 


COPYRIGHT,  igo6,  BY 
CONSTANCE  BURTON   HARRISON. 

Enttred  at  Stationert"  Hall. 
All  Rights  Reterved. 


(FACSIMILE  PAGE  of  MANUSCRIPT  PROM  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS) 


2136070   ' 


LATTER-DAY 
SWEETHEARTS 

CHAPTER   I 

IN  going  aboard  the  "  Baltic  "  that  excep- 
tionally fine  October  morning,  Miss  Carstairs 
convinced  herself  that,  of  the  people  assembled 
to  see  her  off,  no  one  could  reasonably  discern 
in  her  movement  the  suggestion  of  a  retreat. 
The  commonplace  of  a  sailing  for  the  other 
side  would  not,  indeed,  have  met  with  the 
recognition  of  any  attendance  at  the  pier 
among  her  set,  save  for  her  hint  that  she 
might  remain  abroad  a  year.  There  had  been 
a  small  rally  on  the  part  of  a  few  friends 
who  had  chanced  to  meet  at  a  dinner  over- 
night, to  go  down  to  the  White  Star  docks 
and  say  good-by  to  Helen  Carstairs.  Helen 
sincerely  wished  they  had  not  come,  both  be- 
cause the  ceremony  proved  a  little  flat,  and 
because,  when  she  had  time  to  think  them 
over,  she  was  not  so  sure  they  were  her  friends. 

But  the  main  thing  was  that  she  had  been 


8  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

able  to  withdraw,  easily  and  naturally,  from 
a  doubly  trying  situation.  She  had  not  wanted 
to  go  abroad.  All  the  novelty  and  sparkle 
had  gone  out  of  that  business  long  ago.  She 
knew  foreign  travel  from  A  to  Z,  and  she 
loathed  tables  d'hote,  even  more  than  the  grim 
prospect  of  private  meals  with  Miss  Bleecker 
in  sitting-rooms  redolent  of  departed  food,  in- 
sufficiently atoned  for  by  an  encircling  wil- 
derness of  gilding  and  red  plush.  The  very 
thought  of  a  concierge  with  brass  buttons 
lifting  his  cap  to  her  every  time  she  crossed 
the  hall,  of  hotel  corridors  decked  with 
strange  foot  gear  upon  which  unmade  bed- 
rooms yawned,  of  cabs  and  galleries  and 
harpy  dressmakers,  of  sights  and  fellow  tour- 
ists, gave  her  a  mental  qualm.  But  it  was 
better  than  staying  at  home  this  winter  in  the 
big  house  in  Fifth  Avenue  where  Mr.  Car- 
stairs  had  just  brought  a  stepmother  for  her, 
in  the  person  of  "  that  Mrs.  Coxe." 

There  was  apparently  no  valid  reason  for 
Helen's  shuddering  antipathy  to  the  lady, 
who  had  been  the  widow  of  a  junior  partner 
of  her  father,  a  man  whom  Mr.  Carstairs  had 
"  made,"  like  many  another  beginning  in  his 
employ. 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  9 

Mr.  Coxe  had  died  two  years  before,  of 
nervous  overstrain,  leaving  this  flamboy- 
antly handsome,  youngish  woman  to  profit  by 
his  gains.  Helen  had  always  disliked  having 
to  ask  the  Coxes  to  dinner  when  her  father's 
fiat  compelled  her  to  preside  over  the  dull 
banquets  of  certain  smartly-dressed  women 
and  weary,  driven  men,  whom  he  assembled 
at  intervals  around  his  board.  She  could  not 
say  what  she  objected  to  in  Mrs.  Coxe;  she 
thought  it  might  be  her  giggle  and  her  double 
chin.  It  had  been  always  a  relief  when  one 
of  these  "  business  "  dinners  was  over,  and 
she  knew  she  would  not  have  to  do  it  soon 
again.  When  Mr.  Carstairs  dined  in  return 
with  the  Coxes,  they  had  him  at  some  fash- 
ionable restaurant,  taking  him  afterward  to 
the  play.  Mrs.  Coxe  had  shown  sense  enough 
for  that!  During  the  interregnum  of  Mrs. 
Coxe's  mourning  following  the  demise  of  her 
exhausted  lord,  Mr.  Carstairs  had  had  the 
yacht  meet  Helen  and  himself  at  Gibraltar, 
and  cruised  all  that  winter  in  the  Mediter- 
ranean. 

That  had  been  life  abroad,  Helen  thought, 
with  a  throb  of  yearning !  She  was  very  fond 
of  her  father,  rather  a  stony  image  to  most 


10  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

people,  and  immensely  proud  of  the  way  peo- 
ple looked  up  to  his  achievements  in  the 
Street,  the  resistless  rush  of  his  business 
combinations,  his  massive  wealth,  and  his 
perfect  imperturbability  to  newspaper  cavil 
and  attacks  by  enemies.  She  had  loved  to  be 
at  the  head  of  his  establishment,  and  to  re- 
ceive the  clever  and  distinguished  and  nota- 
ble people,  foreign  and  domestic,  who  ac- 
cepted Mr.  Carstairs'  invitation  to  meet  one 
another,  because  they  were  clever  and  distin- 
guished and  notable,  not  because  they  wanted 
to  talk  all  the  evening  what  they  had  talked 
all  day. 

When  they  had  come  home  from  their 
cruise,  Helen  spent  the  summer  in  Newport, 
where  her  father  rarely  went.  The  yacht  was 
his  summer  home,  he  was  wont  to  say;  and 
Helen  did  not  suspect  how  often  that  season 
the  noble  "  Sans  Peur  "  had  been  anchored 
off  the  shores  of  a  settlement  in  Long  Island 
where  Mrs.  Coxe  was  enjoying  the  seclusion 
of  a  shingled  villa  with  broad  verandas  set  in 
a  pocket  handkerchief  of  lawn.  Back  and 
forth  flew  the  owner's  steam  launch  between 
the  "  Sans  Peur  "  and  the  landing,  and  yet 
nobody  told  Helen.  That  autumn  she  had 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  11 

affairs  of  her  own  to  absorb  her  time  and 
give  her  a  sobering  view  of  humanity.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  life  her  father  had  va- 
cated his  throne  as  masculine  ruler  of  her 
thoughts.  She  had  passed  into  the  grip  of 
a  strong,  real  passion  for  a  man  "  nobody  ' 
knew. 

That  is  to  say,  John  Glynn  was  too  hard 
at  work  to  let  himself  be  found  out.  Helen 
had  indulged  in  her  affair  with  him  almost 
unknown  to  her  acquaintances,  most  of 
whom  regarded  the  foot  of  the  ladder  of 
wealth,  where  he  distinctly  stood,  as  the  one 
spot  where  dalliance  in  sentiment  was  to  be 
shunned.  Her  movements  were  hampered  by 
the  fact  that,  although  the  daughter  of  a  plu- 
tocrat, she  had  only  a  trifle  of  her  own;  Mr. 
Carstairs  having  announced,  with  the  insolent 
eccentricity  of  some  men  of  his  stripe,  that 
she  should  go  dowerless  to  her  husband,  hop- 
ing thus  to  protect  her  from  fortune-seekers, 
foreign  and  native.  So  long  as  she  remained 
unmarried  under  his  roof  she  was  to  enjoy 
great  wealth  and  the  importance  it  confers. 
Until  now  Helen  had  not  cared.  Her  brain 
was  clear,  her  head  was  cool,  she  had  tastes 
and  occupations  that  filled  every  hour,  and 


12  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

plenty  of  people  who  flocked  around  her,  pay- 
ing court  to  the  dispenser  of  liberal  hospi- 
talities. 

Her  love  passage  had  ended  in  disaster,  but 
exactly  what  had  passed  between  her  and  the 
unknown  Glynn,  no  one  was  sufficiently  in- 
timate with  Helen  to  ascertain. 

The  marriage  of  her  father  with  Mrs.  Coxe 
had  taken  place  in  June,  after  which  Mr. 
Carstairs  had  withdrawn  his  apparent  objec- 
tions to  Newport,  and  blossomed  out  there 
as  a  villa  resident  of  supreme  importance. 
The  months  of  this  but  partially  successful 
experiment  on  the  part  of  the  new  Mrs.  Car- 
stairs  had  been  passed  by  Helen  in  sup- 
pressed misery.  She  had  gone  into  camp  in 
the  Adirondacks,  had  visited  friends  at  Dark 
Harbor,  and  welcomed  with  thankfulness  the 
invitation  to  spend  September  with  a  young 
couple  of  her  acquaintance  who  had  a  house 
at  Lenox,  filled,  with  the  exception  of  one 
spare  room,  with  assorted  dogs. 

Early  in  October  her  father,  visibly  in- 
spired by  the  lady  who  no  longer  giggled  in 
Helen's  presence,  but  had  not  lost  her  double 
chin,  gave  his  recalcitrant  daughter  "a  good 
talking  to."  If  she  persisted  in  her  rebell- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  13 

ions  demeanor  towards  her  stepmother,  the 
more  reprehensible  because  reserved,  she  was 
at  liberty  to  do  one  of  two  things,  viz.,  take 
a  furnished  house  in  town  and  engage  Miss 
Bleecker,  or  somebody,  to  be  her  chaperon; 
or  else  go  where  she  liked,  abroad. 

Choosing  the  latter  alternative,  Helen  had 
been  considered  fortunate  in  securing  for  her 
companion  the  lady  in  question,  who  was  cer- 
tified by  her  believers  to  be  rarely  disengaged. 
Miss  Bleecker,  in  earlier  days,  had  given 
readings  in  New  York  drawing-rooms  and 
elsewhere  about  the  country,  until  the  grad- 
ual fading  away  of  audiences  had  turned  her 
thoughts  into  the  present  more  lucrative  and 
less  fatiguing  channel  of  genteelest  occupa- 
tion. 

Nature  had  gifted  her  with  an  ephemerally 
imposing  presence,  large,  cold,  projecting 
eyes,  an  authoritative  voice  and  an  excellent 
knowledge  of  the  art  of  dress.  It  was  famil- 
iarly said  that  to  see  her  come  into  a  room 
was  a  lesson  to  any  girl;  and  her  acquaint- 
ance with  the  ins  and  outs  of  New  York  so- 
ciety and  fond  pride  in  the  display  of  it,  put 
the  dull  lady  beyond  criticism  as  a  general 
conversationalist. 


14  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

The  two  travellers  were  attended  by  a 
French  maid,  closely  modelled  in  exterior 
upon  previous  employers  of  rank  abroad, 
whose  service  she  had  relinquished  for  the 
higher  wage  resulting  from  her  American 
decadence  in  social  standing.  Her  large  wad 
of  suspiciously  golden  hair,  frizzed  over  the 
eyebrows,  was  a  souvenir  of  a  "  Lady  Reg- 
gie ";  while  the  flat  waist,  girdled  low  upon 
the  hips  of  a  portly  person,  was  her  best 
tribute  to  the  slim  young  Princess  Bartolozzi 
who  had  had  her  two  years  in  Rome.  This 
composite  rendering  of  great  ladies  did  not 
rob  Mademoiselle  Eulalie  of  the  coarse  mod- 
elling of  her  features ;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
as  Miss  Bleecker  said,  she  was  safe  from 
couriers,  and  her  packing  was  a  dream. 

When  Helen  went  to  the  cabin  de  luxe 
secured  by  her  father's  secretary,  into  which 
Miss  Bleecker 's  room  opened,  she  felt  im- 
patient with  the  girls  who  followed  her,  ex- 
claiming approvingly  over  its  comforts ;  with 
the  maid  who  stood  sentinel  by  her  gold-fitted 
dressing-case;  with  Miss  Bleecker,  who,  in 
colloquy  with  a  white-capped  stewardess,  was 
already  laying  down  the  law  as  to  their  re- 
quirements on  the  voyage.  She  hurried  out 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  15 

again,  encompassed  by  her  friends,  to  gain 
the  upper  deck,  where  the  men  of  the  visit- 
ing party,  looking  unanimously  bored,  awaited 
anxiously  the  ringing  of  the  last  gong  that 
should  drive  them  from  the  ship.  All  had 
been  said  that  could  be  said  on  either  side. 
Vague  repetitions  had  set  in.  Helen's  eyes 
roved  eagerly  over  the  crowds  on  the  pier  be- 
low, over  the  congested  gangway.  She  was 
hoping  to  see  her  father,  and — perhaps,  but 
improbably — one  other.  Late  in  the  fray  a 
brougham  rattled  along  the  pier  and  drew  up 
below.  Helen  recognized  her  father's  big 
brown  horse  and  his  steady  coachman  in 
sober  livery,  the  down-town  outfit  of  the 
financier,  who,  below  Fourteenth  Street,  was 
simplicity  itself.  Mr.  Carstairs,  with  a  pre- 
occupied air,  got  out  and  ascended  the  gang- 
way. The  official  in  charge  at  the  top  of  it, 
who  would  have  barred  the  way  to  a  lesser 
man,  smiled  and  waved  the  magnate  into  his 
daughter's  embraces.  Everything  insensibly 
yielded  to  the  subtle  power  of  this  ruler  of 
the  destinies  of  men.  Helen,  as  she  drew  out 
of  the  lax  clasp  of  the  paternal  arm,  felt  a 
thrill  of  her  old  pride  in  him;  a  sense  of  de- 
spair that  she  was  nevermore  to  be  his  chosen 


16  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

companion  for  a  voyage ;  a  sharp  pang  of  re- 
sentment at  the  image  of  the  absent  inter- 
loper of  their  peace. 

"  It  was  too  good  of  you  to  find  time  to 
come,  papa!  "  she  exclaimed,  turning  to  nod 
to  the  secretary  who  accompanied  him. 
"  Who  knows  when  we  shall  be  together 
again!  ' 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  board  of  directors  waiting 
for  me  now, ' '  said  Mr.  Carstairs  abstractedly. 
"  Of  course,  you  will  be  all  right,  my  dear. 
Foster  has  seen  to  everything,  and  Miss 
Bleecker  will — ah.  Miss  Bleecker,  here  you 
are;  glad  to  see  you  looking  so  fit  for  the 
voyage.  Nothing  to  speak  of,  though,  a  cross- 
ing in  this  monster.  Wish  I  were  getting 
away  myself.  I'm  off  now,  Helen,  my  dear. 
Wish  you  good  luck  and  a  good  time  gen- 
erally! ' 

"  It  won't  be  with  you  and  the  *  Sans  Peur,' 
father,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  with  filling  eyes. 

"  Well,  well,  we  did  get  along  pretty  well 
last  cruise,  didn't  we?  I  was  to  tell  you,"  he 
added,  lowering  his  tone,  "  that  if  you  are  in 
the  humor  for  it,  in  the  Spring — in  the  humor, 
mind  you,  we'll  be  out,  probably  in  March, 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  17 

and  take  you  and  Miss  Bleecker  on  at  Ville- 
franche,  or  anywhere  you  like." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Helen,  rigid  in  a 
moment,  her  eyes  dried  of  moisture. 

"  Think  it  over,  my  dear!  You'll  find  it 
better  worth  while." 

He  kissed  her  again  on  the  side  of  the  cheek, 
missing  her  lips  somehow,  and  was  gone. 
Helen  hardly  saw  his  spare  figure  in  the  top- 
coat that  seemed  too  large  for  it,  so  quickly 
the  crowd  closed  behind  him.  She  was  con- 
scious of  impatience  with  Foster,  who  stood 
there  bowing  in  his  sleek  importance  as  the 
millionaire's  confidential  man,  extending  his 
dampish  fingers  for  good-by.  The  party  who 
had  come  to  see  her  off  sprinkled  their  final 
farewells  with  a  few  banal  last  remarks  and 
disappeared.  Miss  Bleecker,  serenely  proud, 
took  her  station  by  the  taffrail  in  a  place 
where  no  acquaintance  or  reporter  could  fail 
to  note  her  among  the  "  well-known  people 
sailing  this  morning."  Helen  was  at  last 
alone. 

Alone  as  she  had  never  felt  before,  in  her 
five-and-twenty  years  of  active,  independent 
life.  A  gap  in  the  double  row  of  passengers 
crowding  to  the  rail  forward  gave  her  an 


18  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

opportunity.  Slipping  in,  she  looked  down 
upon  upturned,  ivory-tinted  faces  massed  to- 
gether like  those  on  a  Chinese  screen;  at  the 
windows  of  the  company 's  rooms,  also  crowded 
with  gazers,  but  saw  nobody  she  knew. 

Already  the  mighty  ship  began  to  stir  in 
her  water-bed.  When  she  ceased  motion 
again,  Helen  would  be  over  three  thousand 
miles  from  home,  and  the  memories  of  this 
last  trying  year.  It  seemed  to  her  there  was 
not  one  soul  ashore  to  care  whether  she  went 
or  stayed.  Was  this  worth  living  for,  even 
as  she  had  lived  ? 

A  voice  smote  upon  her  ear.  It  issued 
from  a  girl  jammed  in  next  to  her — a  girl 
younger  than  herself,  extremely  pretty,  flash- 
ily attired,  recklessly  unconventional.  Hers 
was  what  Helen  recognized  to  be  a  Southern 
voice,  low  of  pitch  and  soft  of  cadence,  but 
just  now  strained  to  the  utmost  to  make  itself 
audible  to  a  young  man  in  the  act  of  forcing 
his  way  through  the  resistant  crowd,  to  reach 
the  edge  of  the  outer  pier  from  which  the 
ship  was  now  swinging  off.  To  further  ac- 
centuate her  presence  among  the  departing, 
the  young  lady  was  waving  a  small  American 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  19 

"Jo-oh-n!  Oh!  Mr.  Glynn!  Look  up! 
Here  I  am!  Up  here!  ' 

Helen  started  electrically,  for  it  was  her 
John  Glynn,  and  none  other,  whom  this  un- 
known person  was  thus  shamelessly  appro- 
priating! He,  whom  she  had  been  yearning 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of,  who  she  was  convinced 
must  know  from  the  papers  that  she  was  sail- 
ing by  this  steamer.  He,  who  she  had  felt 
sure  was  in  some  hidden  corner  looking  after 
her,  although,  by  her  behest,  they  might  not 
again  hold  speech  one  with  the  other ! 

"  Got  here  only  this  minute.  Best  I  could 
do!  "  shouted  John  Glynn  back  to  the  stran- 
ger, a  smile  lighting  his  handsome,  manly 
face. 

4 '  Never  mind !    I  understand !    Good-by !  ' 

A  flower  shot  down  amid  the  crowd.  Sev- 
eral men  affected  to  jump  for  it,  but  John 
Glynn  caught  it  and  put  it  in  his  coat.  His 
gaze  never  left  Helen's  neighbor;  to  her  his 
eyes  were  upturned,  his  hat  was  waved.  In 
a  flash,  Miss  Carstairs  had  drawn  out  of  sight 
and  fled  within. 

She  found  Miss  Bleecker  already  extended 
upon  the  couch  in  her  own  stateroom,  taking 
tea,  the  door  opened  between,  whilst  Eulalie, 


20  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

kneeling  before  steamer  trunks  and  bags, 
was  littering  everything  near-by  with  luxuri- 
ous belongings. 

Helen  accepted  a  cup  of  tea,  changed  her 
street  costume  for  a  long,  close-fitting  brown 
ulster  with  a  sable  toque  and  boa,  in  which 
Eulalie  told  her  she  was  parfaitement  bien 
mise;  and,  escaping  again  to  the  deck,  walked 
up  and  down  a  comparatively  clear  space 
until  the  "  Baltic  "  was  well  down  the  bay. 
Then,  fairly  tired,  but  unwilling  to  face  Miss 
Bleecker's  chatter,  she  found  a  chair  for- 
ward, where  it  was  not  likely  she  would  sit 
again  during  the  voyage,  and  with  a  wisp  of 
brown  chiffon  drawn  close  over  her  face, 
abandoned  herself  to  melancholy  thought. 

So  this  was  the  end  of  John  Glynn's  la- 
menting for  her  loss!  She,  not  he,  had  been 
faithful  to  the  love  they  had  shared  so  fondly 
for  a  little  while,  in  which  she  had  no  longer 
dared  indulge  with  him.  This  was  the  way 
he  had  accepted  her  decision  that  they  must 
try  to  forget  each  other,  finally. 

During  the  one  week  of  their  secret  en- 
gagement she  had  felt  immeasurable  happi- 
ness. But  every  moment  of  closer  contact 
with  her  young  love,  a  boy  in  world's  knowl- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  21 

edge  beside  herself,  though  of  her  own  age 
in .  actual  years,  convinced  her  of  the  fatal 
mistake  she  had  made  in  believing  she  could 
give  up  her  present  life  for  him,  and  clog  his 
career  by  an  early  marriage.  So  she  had 
broken  the  bond  ruthlessly,  and  her  father 
had  never  known  of  its  existence.  And  his 
consolation  so  quickly  found!  Helen's  lip 
curled  disdainfully.  Some  girl  he  had  met 
in  his  boarding-house;  the  kind  of  thing  he 
had  been  accustomed  to  before  Miss  Car- 
stairs  treated  her  jaded  taste  to  his  virile 
freshness  and  charming  looks,  his  masterful 
reliance  upon  himself,  his  willingness  to  take 
her,  poor  or  rich!  The  type  of  girl  she  had 
seen  in  the  tumultuous  moment  beside  the 
rail  was  puzzling.  Not  a  lady,  according  to 
her  artificialized  standard,  but  having  the 
frank  assurance  and  belief  in  herself  that  had 
attracted  Helen  to  John  Glynn,  with  a  some- 
thing of  good  breeding  underneath.  Cheaply 
dressed,  cheap  mannered,  perhaps,  ignorant 
of  what  Miss  Carstairs  considered  elemental 
necessities  of  training,  but  never  vulgar. 

But  whatever  the  rival,  the  hurt  was  that 
Glynn  cared  for  Helen  no  more,  while  she 
cared  just  the  same.  What  a  fool  she  had 


22  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

been  to  believe  that  masculine  fidelity  sur- 
vives the  blows  of  fate! 

Masked  in  her  brown  veil,  Helen  sat  in  her 
corner,  turning  this  bitter  morsel  upon  her 
tongue,  her  eyes  vaguely  resting  upon  the 
passing  show  of  passengers  as  they  came 
straying  up  on  deck  to  make  the  best  of 
a  fine  afternoon  while  getting  out  to  sea. 
Impatiently  casting  aside  her  unwelcome 
thoughts,  she  tried  to  interest  herself  in  these 
people,  to  speculate  upon  their  identity,  pur- 
pose, and  personality,  with  the  usual  rather 
poor  returns,  since  a  ship's  company  as- 
sembled at  first  view  has  always  the  most  de- 
pressing influence  upon  the  looker-on.  Be- 
side her,  upon  one  of  the  rare  seats  of  a  liner 
that  belong  to  nobody,  she  espied  a  shabby 
little  man,  in  an  overcoat  like  a  faded  leaf, 
drop  down  furtively,  then  seeing  no  one  in- 
clined to  disturb  him,  relax  his  muscles  and, 
taking  off  an  ancient,  wide-brimmed  felt  hat, 
look  about  him  with  a  beaming  smile,  pre- 
pared for  full  enjoyment  of  the  hour  and 
scene. 

Something  in  the  artless  buoyancy  of  his 
manner,  his  meek  acceptance  of  a  modest 
place  in  life,  his  indifference  to  the  considera- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  23 

tions  that  oftenest  vexed  the  souls  of  Miss 
Carstairs'  acquaintances  upon  making  any 
sort  of  public  appearance  before  their  fellow- 
beings,  struck  her  with  an  approach  to  ap- 
proval. Her  glance  toward  him  was  met  in 
the  same  spirit  of  prompt  return  that  follows 
patting  upon  the  head  a  friendly  dog. 

"  Beautiful  weather  we're  having  to  go  out 
in,  ma'am,"  he  said.  "  I'm  kind  of  glad  to 
settle  down  in  this  quiet  corner  'n  see  the  last 
o'  my  native  land.  I  reckoned  I  was  in  no 
one's  way  occupying  this  little  bench  a  bit. 
Because,  you  see,  I've  walked  and  walked, 
inspecting  the  White  Star  leviathan,  every- 
where they'd  let  me  set  a  foot,  till  I'm  about 
worn  out.  Talk  about  i  seeing  New  York 
City  '!  It's  not  a  patch  on  this  ship  for  mak- 
ing a  man  feel  his  lower  limbs,  if  you'll  ex- 
cuse the  expression  before  a  lady.  Why, 
she's  a  wonder,  ma'am,  a  marvel,  and  there's 
literally  no  end  to  her.  I  find  myself  saying 
at  intervals,  '  Thank  God,  I've  lived  to  cross 
the  Atlantic  Ocean,  and  what's  more,  to  cross 
it  in  a  floating  Waldorf-Astoria,'  for  so  it 
looks  to  me!  ' 

"  You  are  fond  of  the  water,  then?  "  said 
Helen,  surprised  at  her  own  affability,  but 


24  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

on  the  whole  too  wretched  to  care  for  risks. 

"  Well,  ma'am,  IVe,  so  to  say,  some  little 
experience.  I  resided  formerly  in  Norfolk, 
Virginia,  and  went  round  to  Baltimo,  Mary- 
land, on  several  trips  by  sea.  Know  Bal- 
timo, ma'am?  Can't  exactly  compare  it  to 
New  York,  I  reckon,  but  still  it's  a  fine  city. 
Celebrated  for  its  monuments,  canvasbacks, 
and  pretty  girls,  the  saying  used  to  be. 
Worn't  dead  stuck  on  canvasbacks  myself, 
though;  got  overfed  with  them  on  my  fa- 
ther's plantation  when  I  was  a  lad,  preferred 
bacon  and  greens  any  day  in  the  year.  But 
I'll  give  in  to  the  praise  of  Baltimo  women 
to  my  last  breath.  Married  one  of  'em,  in 
fact,  an'  if  God  ever  sent  an  angel  into  a 
man's  life,  'twas  she." 

Miss  Carstairs,  to  her  surprise,  detected 
simultaneously  with  a  tender  adoring  look 
coming  upon  his  withered  face,  a  suspicion 
of  moisture  in  her  interlocutor's  eyes.  She 
sat  up,  felt  that  here  was  something  so  out  of 
the  way  as  to  verge  upon  impropriety,  made 
a  movement  to  depart,  and  finally  concluded 
to  remain  where  she  was. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  she  was  too  good  for  me,  or 
any  man.  Born  among  the  best,  as  the  say- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  25 

ing  is,  and  I,  one  of  the  small  potatoes  in  the 
heap.  'Tisn't  any  wonder  I  should  be  think- 
ing of  her  to-day,  the  way  she  wanted  all  her 
life  to  go  to  Europe  and  never  dreamed  of 
managing  to  get  there." 

"  I  hope  this  thought  won't  spoil  your  own 
pleasure  in  the  journey,"  Helen  said,  embar- 
rassed to  find  an  answer. 

"  Oh!  no,  ma'am,  no  chance  of  that.  Why, 
she's  been  with  me  in  spirit  ever  since  we 
parted,  ten  years  ago,  an'  I  always  feel  as  if 
she  was  sharing  things.  She'd  need  a  good 
deal  to  make  up  to  her  for  the  hardships  she 
had  with  me.  You  see,  I  was  first  leftenant 
of  infantry,  just  come  out  o'  the  war,  'n  'bout 
as  bare  o'  money  as  when  I  came  into  the 
world,  I  reckon,  when  I  met  her  first  off  in 
Baltimo,  where  I  was  lookin'  for  a  job.  I 
was  bred  up  as  a  drug  clerk,  and  so  was  glad 
to  take  a  place  in  a  poor  little  store,  'n  we 
began  life  together  in  one  room  of  a  board- 
ing-house, 'n  a  hall  bedroom  at  that!  She, 
mind  you,  was  a  general's  daughter  of  the 
real  old  Maryland  first  chop  stock,  but  as 
poor  as  me.  After  her  father  was  killed  at 
Gettysburg,  you  see,  her  mother  went  to  pick- 
ling for  a  liying,  'n  'twas  hard  work,  with 


26  LATTER-DAT  SWEETHEARTS 

two  other  daughters  on  her  hands,  neither 
one  o'  them  likely  to  marry  much,  being  the 
kind  the  Lord  makes  homely  for  reasons  of 
His  own.  My  wife,  now,  was  a  beauty,  no 
mistaking  her!  I  never  understood  how  she 
came  to  take  up  with  me,  'n  when  I  asked  her 
why,  she  said  she  was  just  tired  o'  pickles, 
anyway!  That  was  only  her  fun,  ma'am;  we 
had  to  have  a  little,  to  make  the  wheels  go 
round.  Please  excuse  me  for  taking  the  lib- 
erty of  talking  so  sociably.  We  Southerners 
have  that  way,  I  reckon,  and,  besides,  it 
seemed  like  my  heart  was  so  full  of  wife  to- 
day, I  had  to  say  something  to  somebody,  or 
break  a  trace." 

Miss  Carstairs  hesitated,  then  gave  way  to 
an  unusual  impulse,  arising  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  must  thank  you,  rather,  for  having  re- 
minded me  that  all  men  don't  forget.  I  am 
sure  you  deserved  all  the  happiness  you  had 
with  her,  and  I  hope  there  is  a  great  deal  of  it 
still  left  in  life  for  you." 

"  Well,  now,  ma'am,  that's  beautifully 
said.  But  I  won't  let  you  go  without  know- 
ing that,  though  I've  come  to  it  by  a  long, 
hard  way,  my  luck  has  turned  at  last,  and  the 
only  trouble  is  that  she's  not  here  to  share  it. 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  27 

The  long  years  after  we  moved  south  to  Ala- 
bama (where  I'd  an  opening,  and  after  a 
while  set  up  for  myself),  when  wife  toiled 
and  moiled  for  me — when  we  lost  all  the  chil- 
dren that  were  born  to  us,  but  the  last  one — 
how  she  used  to  sit  in  the  evenings  and  read 
about  English  cathedrals  and  Stonehenge, 
and  the  like!  She  didn't  seem  to  care  so 
much  about  visiting  Italy  and  Paris  and  the 
Riviera,  but  Switzerland  tickled  her  awfully. 
She  had  a  picture  of  Mont  Blanc  on  top  of 
a  work-box.  When  I  think  how  cheap  the 
post  cards  are  in  these  days,  I  do  wish  wife 
could  have  had  a  lot  to  paste  in  an  album 
that  she  kept.  She  always  said  I  was  to  take 
daughter,  if  we  ever  got  money  enough  for 
two  to  cross  on,  and  that  she  would  stay  at 
home.  And  now,  the  money's  come,  enough 
for  all  of  us,  and  I'm  taking  daughter,  just 
as  she  said,  and  we're  to  see  England  and 
she  isn't!  I  tell  you,  ma'am,  things  are 
sorted  out  unevenly  by  our  good  Lord!  ' 

Miss  Carstairs  carried  into  her  cabin  the 
wistfulness  of  the  gentle  old  face,  the  irre- 
sistible conviction  of  his  honesty.  What,  in 
the  beginning,  had  tempted  her  to  mock,  now 


28  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

laid  forcible  hold  of  her  better  nature,  and 
impelled  her  to  gentler  thoughts. 

A  sharp  awakening  was  the  rencounter 
with  Miss  Bleecker's  apprehensions  as  to 
where  she  should  sit  at  table,  and  the  effer- 
vescence of  that  lady's  regrets  that  the  par- 
ties with  whom  she  had  counted  upon  being 
included,  were  all  "  made  up."  Helen  re- 
called previous  voyages  under  the  aegis  of  her 
distinguished  father,  where  their  table  was 
the  one  most  desired  by  social  pretenders, 
with  its  plats  and  wines  served  from  his 
private  stores,  its  aura  of  plutocratic  ex- 
clusiveness  in  which  revolved  obsequious 
stewards!  She  winced  at  thought  of  glory 
fled,  but  while  Miss  Bleecker  enlarged  upon 
the  neglect  of  the  secretary,  Foster,  in  not 
having  arranged  this  matter  for  them,  re- 
flected bitterly  that  Foster,  trimming  his 
sails  to  the  wind  of  Fortune,  was  now  the 
devotee  of  the  new  Mrs.  Carstairs'  whims, 
and  unless  especially  ordered  so  to  do,  would 
be  likely  to  make  no  effort  for  the  rebellious 
stepdaughter's  advancement. 

Affecting  indifference  to  the  detail  in  ques- 
tion, she  found  herself  at  dinner  assigned  to 
a  small  table  in  one  corner  of  the  saloon,  of 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  29 

which  five  of  the  nine  seats  were  already 
filled,  when  Miss  Bleecker,  sparkling  inter- 
mittently in  jet,  sailed  ahead  of  her  charge, 
and  motioned  Helen  into  place  beside  her.  A 
steward,  who  had  identified  the  ladies,  came 
hurrying  to  overtake  them,  and  express  his 
hope  that  Miss  Carstairs  would  be  satisfied 
with  his  selection  for  her,  assuring  her,  in  a 
whisper,  that  he  had  taken  every  care  that 
she  should  have  only  the  "  best  "  people  as 
her  comrades. 

Helen,  who  had  not  yet  sat  down,  smiled  at 
the  reassuring  promise.  The  whisper,  over- 
heard by  two  of  the  gentlemen  unfolding 
their  napkins  opposite,  produced  an  answer- 
ing smile.  Impossible  to  resist  a  voucher  so 
bestowed !  Bimultaneously  the  two  men  arose 
and  stood  till  Miss  Carstairs  had  taken  her 
revolving  chair  and  was  safely  installed  be- 
side her  chaperon.  The  table  was  now  com- 
plete, save  for  the  seat  at  the  end  and  that 
at  its  right  adjoining  Helen's. 

Soup  had  hardly  been  placed  before  them 
when  the  intended  occupants  of  the  vacant 
places  resolved  themselves  into  a  couple,  at 
sight  of  whom  a  cold  tremor  passed  into  Miss 
Carstairs'  limbs — for  they  were  none  other 


30  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

than  the  mild  little  man  with  whom  she  had 
been  talking  on  the  deck,  and  the  girl  who 
had  thrown  John  Glynn  a  flower! 

The  old  fellow  had  made  scant  preparation 
for  the  ceremonial  meal  of  the  day  on  ship- 
board. His  kind  face  shone  with  soap  and 
water,  while  a  thin  lock  of  gray  hair  was 
laboriously  trained  by  the  same  medium  over 
his  bald  crown.  His  mustard-colored  "  tour- 
ist suit  "  of  tweed,  the  red  tie  and  rumpled 
cheviot  shirt,  might,  indeed,  have  served  a 
noble  earl  upon  his  travels  through  an  Amer- 
ican drawing-room;  but  whatever  the  ap- 
pearance of  her  sire,  it  was  at  once  lost  to 
sight  in  the  radiant  prettiness  and  extraor- 
dinary self-possession  of  the  girl  who  accom- 
panied him. 

A  goddess  of  liberty  in  height,  with  the 
complexion  of  a  pink-and-white  balsam  flower, 
and  rippled  hair  of  gold  worn  parted  in  the 
middle  and  extending  outward  in  exagger- 
ated wings;  her  admirable  young  form  was 
attired  in  cheap  China  silk  of  an  azure  tint 
incorporating  transparencies  of  white  lace 
that  revealed  a  dazzling  neck  and  arms. 
Decked  with  profuse  jewelry  of  the  inex- 
pensive sort,  she  stood  for  a  moment  where 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  31 

the  rest  of  the  company  could  fully  profit 
by  the  apparition  before  it  went  into  eclipse 
in  her  allotted  seat! 

The  attention  of  their  table,  hitherto  in- 
directly converging  upon  the  fine  lines  and 
pate  tendre  coloring  of  Miss  Carstairs,  now 
shifted  its  focus  to  a  point  not  to  be  for- 
saken for  the  remainder  of  the  voyage  (an 
example  promptly  to  be  followed  by  the  rest 
of  the  passengers,  the  officers  and  personnel 
of  the  big  ship  in  general).  The  newcomer 
possessed,  in  spite  of  her  extreme  youth,  the 
manner  of  some  histrionic  star  who  has  the 
conscience  of  her  calling  in  producing  ef- 
fects not  to  be  forfeited  by  a  moment's  neg- 
lect of  opportunity.  Her  present  entrance 
had  the  full  effect  of  a  sweep  down  to  the 
footlights,  to  pause  with  one  hand  upon  the 
desk  from  which  the  heroine  is  wont  to  dash 
off  her  little  notes  to  the  leading  man,  whilst 
reading  them  aloud  to  the  audience. 

But  withal,  so  childlike  were  her  contours, 
so  joyous  her  appeal  for  notice,  one  felt  that 
her  vanity  might  still  be  the  innocent  belief 
of  a  little  girl  secure  of  her  own  interesting- 
ness  to  the  public,  when  she  comes  into  a 
roomful  of  her  mother's  guests. 


32  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

All  eyes  following  her  movements,  the 
stranger  surveyed  the  saloon  briefly,  and 
spoke  to  her  companion  with  good-humored 
authority. 

"  Just  what  I  told  you,  Dad.  The  older 
gentlemen  all  sit  in  the  end  seats,  and  that's 
the  place  for  you." 

"  Now,  Posey,  child,"  came  in  audible  re- 
joinder, "  none  of  your  nonsense,  but  just 
do  as  I  said,  and  take  the  end  yourself.  No- 
body wants  to  see  an  old  fossil  like  me  put 
forward  when  they  can  get  a  nice  young  lady 
to  look  at.  Sit  down,  right  away,  and  I'll 
just  slip  in  beside  this  lady.  "Why,  ma'am," 
he  added,  interrupting  himself  with  a  face 
of  glad  recognition  in  identifying  Miss  Car- 
stairs,  "  if  it  ain't  you,  and  I'm  real  pleased 
to  meet  up  with  you  again!  A  needle  in  a 
haystack,  I  was  thinking  myself  among  all 
these  strange  folk.  And  you'll  be  such  prime 
company  for  Posey,  here.  Let  me  make  you 
acquainted  with  my  daughter,  Miss  Pamela 
Winstanley,  of  Alison's  Cross  Roads,  Ala- 
bama." 

Miss  Carstairs  inclined  her  head  toward 
the  beaming  newcomer,  and  almost  imme- 
diately turned  to  close  converse  in  an  under- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  33 

tone  with  Miss  Bleecker,  who  was  herself 
occupied  in  digesting  unpleasant  first  impres- 
sions. 

For,  after  fortifying  herself  with  soup, 
and  ordering  a  whiskey  and  soda  for  diges- 
tion's sake,  the  chaperon  had  sent  her  eagle 
glance  around  the  board  with  this  result  t 

Of  the  five  gentlemen  installed  before  their 
arrival,  two  were  mentally  labelled,  "  Hope- 
less, old,  grumpy,  no  doubt,  of  no  possible 
use  to  us."  Another,  "  A  mere  larky  boy, 
not  knowing  him,  must  keep  him  down," 
and  the  pair  who  had  arisen  and  stood  at 
their  approach,  "  An  Englishman,  badly 
bored,  good  figure,  eyes  and  teeth,  has  been, 
or  is,  in  the  army;  the  Frenchman  with  him, 
rather  like  Mephistopheles,  might  be  amus- 
ing, but  will,  of  course,  be  sea-sick  all  the  way 
over.  A  poor  lot,  and  just  wait  till  I  get  at 
that  head  steward  and  find  out  what  he  means 
by  it!  " 


CHAPTER   II 

"  MY  dear  Helen,  I  really  may  as  well  tell 
you  at  once,  that  I  don't  like  your  walking 
alone,  in  the  dark,  down  on  that  lower  deck 
that  looks  steeragy,  where  there  are  no  chairs, 
and  the  men  go  to  smoke  after  dinner." 

"  Do  they?  I  hadn't  noticed,"  said  Helen, 
indifferently. 

She  had  come  into  their  rooms  with  a 
brighter  look  upon  her  face,  born  of  the  de- 
licious swoop  of  salt  air  upon  it,  and  the 
sound  of  that  churning  music  of  the  waves 
with  which  the  sea  rewards  the  good  ship 
when  she  takes  her  ocean  crests  easily  and 
settles  down  to  her  grand  Atlantic  stride. 

"  I  lost  you,  after  dinner,  when  I  was  sit- 
ting on  the  boat  deck  with  Mrs.  Vereker, 
hearing  all  about  her  daughter's  divorce  and 
her  son's  appendicitis.  No  wonder  the  poor 
woman  goes  abroad  for  a  change.  And, 
really,  I'm  glad,  after  all,  we  are  not  with 
them  at  table,  since  she  can  talk  of  nothing 
else,  and  much  as  one  may  feel  for  a  friend's 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  35 

troubles,  it  is  nicer  to  hear  a  little  about  other 
people's,  too!  I  was  telling  Mrs.  Vereker — 
though,  dear  me,  she  hardly  lets  one  speak 
— how  dreadfully  they  had  served  us  about 
the  people  they  put  us  with,  and,  my  dear, 
what  do  you  think?  It  never  does  to  judge 
by  first  appearances  at  sea,  for  as  it  turns 
out,  Mr.  Vereker — who  is  that  kind  of  a  fuss- 
ing, Miss  Nancyish  man,  and  loves  to  study 
the  passenger  list — has  discovered  that  every 
soul  at  our  table,  except  those  dreadful 
Southerners,  has  a  title!  The  one  with 
glasses,  who  speaks  such  funny  English,  is 
a  German  Graf,  of  a  family  of  fabulous  an- 
tiquity, who  has  been  to  Washington  to  see 
his  ambassador  about  sending  one  of  his  sons 
to  learn  agriculture  in  America.  The  one 
who  gobbles  so,  and  complains  of  the  draught 
on  his  back,  and  had  the  port  shut,  is  Prince 
Zourikoff,  a  Russian  savant,  who  has  written 
a  book  called  i  Etudes  sur  la  cause  de  la  de- 
cadence des  peuples.'  The  saucy  boy  who 
went  in  for  a  flirtation  with  that  Winstanley 
girl,  is  Mr.  Vane,  a  son  of  Lord  Kennington, 
whom  they  sent  to  Canada  for  a  year  to  get 
him  out  of  mischief  at  home.  The  really  in- 
teresting person  is — who  do  you  suppose? — 


36  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

the  man  opposite  you,  Lord  Clandonald, 
whose  story  was  in  all  the  newspapers  a  year 
ago.  His  wife,  a  beautiful  Miss  Darien,  be- 
haved scandalously,  yet  was  so  clever  in 
tricking  everybody,  it  was  hard  to  get  the 
divorce.  But  he  got  rid  of  her  at  last,  and 
then  went  around  the  world.  Doesn't  look 
like  a  man  of  that  sort,  does  he  ?  Rather  shy, 
I  should  say,  and  hold-off,  but  a  splendid  fig- 
ure. The  Frenchman  is  actually  the  famous 
Mariol,  whose  books  are  my  delight,  though 
he's  a  wretch  the  way  he  writes  about  women. 
He's  Clandonald 's  great  chum,  and  they  have 
been  travelling  together." 

Helen's  face  had  lighted. 

"  I  know  only  one  or  two  books  of  Mariol's 
— essays  principally,  but  they  are  perfect  of 
their  kind " 

"  I  advise  you  to  keep  to  the  essays,"  said 
Miss  Bleecker,  dryly.  "  He  has  an  enormous 
reputation  in  the  literary  world,  and  one  likes 
to  meet  them,  now  and  again,  if  they  are  not 
frumps." 

"  And  provided  he  is  not  sea-sick,"  said 
Helen,  smiling. 

"  In  this  boat,  in  an  ordinary  sea,  there'll 
be  no  excuse  for  it.  Why,  one  hardly  knows 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  37 

we  are  moving.  To  return  to  Clandonald, 
don't  you  think  people  one  reads  about  and 
hears  about  are  always  disappointing?  I 
don't  say  there  was  anything  wrong  attrib- 
uted to  him;  they  said  he  was  rather  Quixotic 
in  his  treatment  of  the  worthless  creature, 
who  had  to  give  up  his  name  and  go  under. 
But  he  is  so  much  like  other  people.  Noth- 
ing to  show  he  was  in  such  a  notorious  divorce 
suit — Helen,  what  are  you  smiling  at?  ' 

"  The  thrilling  thought  that  I  had  M.  de 
Mariol  to  ml*  my  salad  dressing,"  replied 
Miss  Carstairs. 

"  Was  it  good?  I  am  always  careful  the 
first  day  out.  Oh !  I  must  tell  you  about  those 
queer  Dicks,  the  Southerners.  It  seems  that 
Lord  and  Lady  Channel  Fleet  came  on  board 
at  the  last  minute,  and  took  quite  an  ordinary 
room — that  heavy-looking  red-faced  man  and 
the  dowdy  woman  in  big  turquoise  earrings, 
who  sat  at  the  captain's  table — they  had  to 
have  those  two  seats,  so  the  Winstanleys 
were  transferred  to  us.  If  we  had  only  se- 
cured the  Channel  Fleets,  we  should  have 
been  so  complete!  Perhaps  they  and  Clan- 
donald don't  speak,  though,  and  the  captain 
found  it  out,  or  the  purser,  who  always  hears 


38  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

all  the  gossip.  At  any  rate,  we've  got  to  put 
up  with  the  Winstanleys,  and  I'll  give  you 
my  frank  opinion,  Helen,  that  before  this 
voyage  is  over  we  '11  have  cause  to  rue  the  day 
when  we  laid  eyes  on  them.  The  old  man  is 
simply  too  absurd.  Treats  her  as  if  she  were 
a  princess  and  he  her  courier.  How  you 
could  stand  his  babbling  in  your  ear,  I  can't 
imagine.  But  she!  she!  The  worst  speci- 
men of  the  travelling  American  who  makes 
one  blush  for  one's  country  when  abroad." 

"  One  must  own  to  her  good  looks,"  Helen 
interpolated  bravely. 

Miss  Bleecker  snorted. 

"  My  dear,  that  is  unworthy  of  you.  A 
Twenty-third  Street  shop-girl  would  be 
ashamed  to  do  her  hair  like  that;  and  her 
frock — bought  in  stock,  and  fitted  in  half  a 
day,  probably.  But  even  that  doesn't  count 
beside  her  phenomenal  assurance  and  self- 
conceit.  Fancy  now,  her  addressing  a  re- 
mark to  me,  before  I  had  spoken  to  her.  I 
never  heard  such  a  string  of  words  from  a 
young  person  in  my  life,  and  to  take  'it  upon 
her  to  entertain  the  whole  table!  It  really 
silenced  me.  One  comfort  is  that  everybody 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  39 

will  put  her  down  as  I  did,  and  sooner  or 
later  she'll  be  left  severely  to  herself." 

"  I  noticed  that  Lord  Clandonald  and  M. 
de  Mariol  seemed  much  amused,  and  the 
others  couldn't  keep  their  eyes  from  her,"  said 
truthful  Helen,  who  had  her  own  cause  for 
blank  wonderment  at  the  further  develop- 
ment of  John  Glynn's  acquaintances. 

"  Oh!  that  is  the  provoking  part  of  men," 
answered  Miss  Bleecker,  tossing  her  head; 
"  give  them  a  pretty  face  and  a  forward 
manner,  and  they'll  pretend  to  be  enter- 
tained. I'm  very  sorry,  Helen,  but  if  that 
girl  doesn't  take  my  hint  and  tone  down  a 
great  deal,  I  shall  be  under  the  necessity  of 
making  a  complaint  about  our  seats.  It  isn't 
possible  the  line  wouldn't  wish  to  place  your 
father's  daughter  at  least  respectably  at  table. 
These  Winstanleys  are,  in  my  opinion,  most 
suspicious  people,  and  I  have  asked  Mr. 
Vereker  to  make  very  particular  inquiries 
and  find  out  if  I  am  not  right.  Se  says  that 
when  she  came  into  the  saloon,  every  neck 
on  our  side  was  stretched  looking  after  her, 
and  he  quite  agrees  with  me — no,  Mrs.  Vere- 
ker agreed  with  me,  her  husband  was  weak 
enough  to  say  what  were  the  odds  when  a 


40  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

girl  is  so  deuced  pretty — that  there  must  be 
something  wrong." 

The  latter  part  of  Miss  Bleecker's  mono- 
logue was  spoken  to  space,  since  Miss  Car- 
stairs,  melting  away  into  her  own  room,  had 
closed  the  door  between  them. 

Helen  found  Mile.  Eulalie  sitting  on  the 
foot  of  the  cane  settee,  comfortably  warming 
her  toes  at  a  small  apparatus  of  shining  brass, 
which,  with  its  red  lamp  inside,  presented  a 
fair  semblance  of  the  forsaken  fires  of  home. 
Upon  the  bed  lay  her  own  satin  quilt,  her  own 
pillows  of  embroidered  linen  were  prepared 
invitingly,  her  peignoir  billowed  across  the 
couch.  Upon  every  side  gleamed  and  glit- 
tered the  little  objects  of  cut-glass,  tortoise- 
shell  and  gold  which  she  had  heaped  in  the 
balance  against  John  Glynn's  love,  along 
with  a  hundred  other  manifestations  of  the 
outward  and  visible  signs  of  a  solvent  exist- 
ence. To-night  she  was  strangely  repelled  by 
them.  She  made  a  motion  to  go  out  again 
into  the  half  darkness  of  that  same  deserted 
lower  deck,  where  she  could  walk  to  the  rush 
of  the  wind  and  the  inspiriting  swish  of  the 
water.  She  wanted  to  be  alone  with  her 
thoughts,  to  bid  a  last  good-by  to  the  love  she 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  41 

had  known  for  a  little  happy  while.  Then 
the  image  of  Miss  Posey  Winstanley,  with 
her  assured  smile  and  undaunted  self-satis- 
faction, came  to  her  with  a  new  shock,  and, 
turning  back,  she  let  Eulalie  take  off  her 
dress  and  brush  her  hair,  surrendering  her- 
self inertly  to  the  warmth  and  perfume  of 
materialism,  and  trying  to  think  she  was  bet- 
ter so. 

Far  into  the  night  Helen  lay,  physically  at 
rest,  inhaling  the  pure  air  from  her  open 
window,  feeling  the  gentle  uplift  of  the  sea 
as  the  huge  bulk  of  the  ship  faintly  answered 
to  its  impulse,  listening  to  the  bells  challeng- 
ing one  another  from  afar,  but  she  could  not 
sleep.  Tirelessly  her  memory  went  over 
every  incident  of  her  acquaintanceship  with 
Glynn,  and  of  the  virtual  break  with  her  fa- 
ther since  the  terrible  substitution  of  the 
woman  she  suspected  into  her  old  place  at 
home.  To  the  last  she  had  kept  a  brave 
front,  and  no  one  should  ever  know  what 
this  past  year  had  cost  her.  She  was  leav- 
ing America,  without  temptation  to  return. 
The  secret  glimmering  hope  that  had  kept 
alight  within  her,  that  some  day  John  Glynn 
and  she  might  come  together  again,  was  now 


42  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

finally  extinguished.  It  was  as  if  a  new  era 
of  life  were  opening,  and  the  question  was, 
how  best  should  she  shape  it  ? 

For  the  twentieth  time  Miss  Carstairs  had 
come  around  to  the  knottiest  problem  of  all 
those  that  kept  her  wakeful  in  her  giant 
cradle  of  the  sea.  She  was  wondering  how 
duty  and  dignity  might  combine  to  inspire 
her  action  toward  her  successor  in  Glynn's 
affections.  Her  chief  apprehension  regard- 
ing Pamela  Winstanley,  was  that  John 
Glynn  should  have  made  her  ever  so  little 
aware  of  that  prior  bond.  A  cold  terror  had 
possessed  her  at  thought  of  the  exuberant 
creature  sharing  or  even  suspecting  her  sa- 
cred secret.  But  in  the  girl's  helter-skelter 
attempts  at  speech  with  every  one  at  table, 
she  had  given  no  hint  that  she  had  previously 
heard  of  Miss  Carstairs.  Helen  could  only 
hope  that  Glynn's  name  would  never  come  up 
between  them.  And,  at  this  point,  a  soft, 
swabbing  sound  and  the  tread  of  muffled  feet 
upon  the  deck  beneath  her  window,  gave  no- 
tice that  the  sailors  were  at  their  early  morn- 
ing tasks.  The  weird,  self -pitying  note  of  the 
parrot  in  a  cabin  hard  by  seemed  to  grow 
fainter  and  more  dreamlike.  Turning  wearily 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  43 

upon  her  pillows,  she  let  sleep  take  her  into 
its  merciful  embrace. 

"  Certainly,  Mariol,  you  have  found  your 
American  types  ready  to  hand  upon  this  voy- 
age," Lord  Clandonald  was  saying,  as  the 
two  men  walked  up  and  down  with  their 
cigars  upon  the  deck  decried  by  Miss  Car- 
stairs'  chaperon.  "  The  most  obvious  one  is, 
of  course,  the  astonishing  young  person  who 
aroused  us  from  the  spiritual  lethargy  of  a 
first  meal  at  sea,  when  one  is  always  on  guard 
not  to  be  too  accessible." 

"  She  is  like  one  of  those  Eastern  shops, 
where  everything  is  in  the  window,"  Mariol 
answered.  "  But  adorably  fresh  and  naive 
and  pretty.  No  other  continent  could  pro- 
duce her  than  the  wide  and  liberal  one  we 
are  just  quitting." 

"  Might  we  but  keep  her  to  ourselves!  ' 
said  Clandonald,  mockingly.  "  But  I  fare- 
see  that  she  will  be  the  wonder  and  the  joy 
of  the  entire  ship's  company  on  our  run  over. 
And  the  mild  old  boy  who  retires  into  the 
background  to  give  his  Wonder  every  chance ! 
I  rather  like  the  old  boy,  I  think. ' ' 

"  My  own  taste  would  be  for  the  young 


44  LATTER-DAT   SWEETHEARTS 

lady  who  is  protected  by  Buddha  reincarnate, 
in  the  person  of  the  disapproving  chaperon. 
Her  beauty  is  rarer,  more  subtle,  than  the 
other's;  she  is  clearly  of  the  fine  fleur  of  the 
American  aristocracy  of  dollars.  I  suspect 
a  Colonial  ancestor  somewhere,  and  you  ob- 
served that  the  chaperon  did  not  disdain  us 
too  much,  to  let  fall  a  hint  or  two  concerning 
the  custom  of  splendor  in  her  charge's  life. 
When  they  find  you  out,  Clandonald,  I'll 
wager  the  sun  will  promptly  shine  between 
the  clouds  for  you." 

"  The  old  woman  is  in  the  apologetic  stage 
for  America,  and  that's  enough  to  give  me  a 
strong  disgust  for  her.  Let  them  be  any- 
thing that's  real,  and  I'm  ready  to  meet 
Americans  '  hands  across  the  sea.'  But  the 
ones  that  affect  to  decry  their  nationality,  to 
convince  us  that  they  are  of  a  small,  segre- 
gated class  that  stand  on  higher  ground  than 
the  rest,  are  abhorrent  to  me.  Clearly,  Bud- 
dha's protegee  belongs  to  that  class,  and  will 
not  tarry  to  let  us  become  aware  of  it." 

"  Grant  that  my  Mdlle.  Helene — for  I  don't 
know  her  other  name — is  both  beautiful  and 
finely  bred,  and  I  will  abandon  you  the  rest 
of  her  sisterhood.  She  is  full  of  an  exquis- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  45 

ite  intellectuality,  but  it  would  not  prevent 
her  loving  if  her  heart  were  awakened — and 
if  I  am  not  mistaken,  it  has  already  been 
awakened.  Imagine  a  young  girl,  chez  nous, 
with  that  expression  in  her  eyes,  and  yet  that 
delicate  restraint  of  manner.  I  should  like 
to  know  the  fair  Helene's  history." 

"  That  you  might  dissect  her  with  admir- 
able grace  in  a  feuilleton  that  tout  Paris 
would  read  and  applaud — and — forget  her 
the  next  hour,  in  a  new  enthusiasm." 

"  Better  to  possess  all  the  enthusiasms 
than  none,  old  chap.  I  am  really  in  despair 
over  your  failure  to  be  aroused  by  the  in- 
finite variety  of  the  diversions  offered  to  you 
in  this  journey  of  ours  that,  alas!  must  end 
too  soon." 

"  There  is  one  pleasure  that  has  never 
palled  on  me,  and  that  is  the  society  of  my 
travelling  companion.  You  are  the  ideal  one 
in  many  respects,  Mariol ;  but  if  I  could  point 
out  one  virtue  more  than  another  that  dis- 
tinguishes you  in  that  character,  it  is  the  let- 
ting a  man  enjoy  all  his  bad  humors,  his  fads, 
his  follies,  if  you  will,  unchecked  and  un- 
bridled. I  have  sometimes  basely  suspected 
you  of  sacrificing  me  in  order  to  make  copy 


46  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

of  my  infirmities.  But,  at  any  rate,  I  have 
enjoyed  blessed  liberty,  and,  whatever  the  re- 
sult, I  have  profited  by  the  semblance  of  a 
perfect  tact  and  consideration." 

"  A  roundabout  way  of  warning  me  not 
to  intrude  my  advice  upon  you  now.  But 
seriously,  Clandonald,  and  at  any  risk,  I 
must  tell  you  that  you  need  rousing.  That 
past  of  yours,  unsavory  as  it  was  through  no 
fault  of  yours,  has  been  long  enough  decently 
interred  for  you  to  forget  it,  and  to  recreate 
your  life's  happiness.  One  can't  be  sore  al- 
ways, any  more  than  we  can  love  always,  or 
mourn  always.  And  you,  of  all  men  the  one 
best  fitted  to  wear  the  yoke  of  your  staid 
British  virtues,  to  serve  your  country  and 
your  king  at  home,  to  be  a  model  landlord, 
a  husband  and  a  paterfamilias,  comme  il  y 
en  a  peu!  For  heaven's  sake,  accept  the 
blessed  opportunity  of  your  present  freedom, 
and  make  up  for  that  wretched  first  mistake. 
You  aren't  happy,  you  have  no  ambition,  no 
purpose,  no  zest  in  living.  Get  yourself  a 
wife." 

"  This  from  Mariol,  the  scoffer,  the  celi- 
bate! My  dear  fellow,  I  forgive  you  your 
trespass  upon  forbidden  ground,  because  I 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  47 

know  you  are  sincere.  But  you  forget  one 
small,  important  fact.  The  person  who  bore 
my  name,  and  her  various  works  of  evil,  have 
so  depleted  my  finances  that,  had  I  the  cour- 
age, I  haven't  the  wherewithal  to  hawk  my 
wares  in  the  marriage  mart.  I  wonder  if 
you  know  what  it  costs  to  keep  a  Lady  Clan- 
donald  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  domestic  at- 
mosphere of  which  you  speak.  I  know  to 
my  cost.  Unless  she  were  a  beautiful  savage, 
content  to  retire  with  me  to  one  of  those  isles 
of  the  South  Sea  poor  Louis  Stevenson  ideal- 
ized, I  couldn't  even  give  her  a  season  in 
town,  or  a  trip  to  Paris  or  Homburg,  much 
less  races,  and  all  the  bridge  a  woman  needs ; 
and  so  there 'd  be  the  devil  to  pay,  you  see. 
If  she  would  set  up  a  bonnet-shop,  or  a  place 
for  horribly  dear  frocks,  and  keep  me  on  the 
proceeds — !  but  otherwise,  I'm  as  poor  as  a 
rat,  Mariol,  and  haven't  your  resources,  or 
royalties,  remember." 

"  A  small  matter,  my  dear  lad,  with  the 
ever-continuing  flood  of  American  dollars 
pouring  from  West  to  East  through  the 
facile  clasp  of  the  fair  beings  by  whom  we 
are  presently  surrounded.  And  you  would 
not  run  great  risks.  There  is  this  to  be  said 


48  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

for  them,  that  American  ladies  rarely  de- 
generate into  either  bores,  dupes  or  pieces 
of  household  machinery :  '  Le  f  amilier  vul- 
gaire,  utile  et  sans  bouquet,  comme  le  via 
qu'on  boit  avec  1'eau.'  They  progress  with 
the  epoch  and  the  civilization  that  claim 
them.  Take — as  a  matter  of  illustration 
merely — either  of  the  two  young  women  who 
grace  our  board." 

"  As  a  matter  of  illustration,  merely,"  an- 
swered Clandonald,  laughing,  "I'd  prefer 
to  take  the  sweet  child  of  nature,  combining, 
with  the  vulgarity  of  a  powdered  nose,  the 
eyes  of  an  intelligent  cherub  recently  short- 
coated." 

"  As  you  please,"  said  Mariol,  arching  his 
brows  resignedly.  "  My  choice  for  you 
would  have  been  the  fine-grained  daughter 
of  the  Puritans  with  hair  the  color  of  a  hazel- 
nut,  the  flat,  straight  back,  and  resolute  fig- 
ure gowned  by  Paquin.  I  dare  say  both 
ladies  are  accessible  to  what  you  have  to 
offer  them,  or  that  either  would  soon  fit  into 
place  in  the  long  walk  at  Beaumanoir,  among 
those  strutting  white  peacocks  against  a  back- 
ground of  clipped  yews  and  sun-warmed 
ancient  brick.  No  American  girl  could  resist 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  49 

that  walk  and  those  white  peacocks,   Clan- 
donald, take  my  word  for  it." 

"  Then  marry  one  yourself,  and  I'll  let 
the  place  to  you  for  a  song." 

"  I  have  still  to  see  Tibet,"  answered  the 
other,  stopping  to  light  a  fresh  cigar. 

Their  talk  ended  in  a  discussion  wide  afield 
from  the  subject  with  which  it  had  begun. 
But  when  Mariol  turned  in,  it  was  with  a 
throb  of  secret  satisfaction  that  he  had  been 
able,  in  the  darkness,  and  apparently  a  I'im- 
proviste,  to  wing  in  the  direction  of  his 
friend  a  shaft  he  had  long  held  in  reserve 
for  him. 

He  had  been  with  Clandonald,  side  by  side, 
wading  through  the  miserable  mire  of  his  di- 
vorce case,  and  rejoiced  when  he  saw  him 
rid  for  ever  of  the  creature  who  had  dragged 
him  down.  The  two  men  had  met  first  in 
South  Africa,  while  Clandonald  was  lying 
ill  of  enteric,  and  Mariol,  coming  upon  him 
by  accident  in  the  course  of  his  own  explora- 
tions for  observation  and  adventure  at  the 
seat  of  war,  had  nursed  him  with  the  gentle- 
ness and  devotion  of  a  woman,  until  he  was 
out  of  danger  and  ready  for  the  voyage  home. 
During  his  first  convalescence,  Clandonald 


50  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

had  received  the  plainly  unwelcome  news  of 
his  wife's  intended  journey  out,  "  to  look 
after  her  dear  old  boy."  The  arrival  of  her 
errant  ladyship,  followed  by  the  untoward 
discovery  of  her  real  motives  in  making  this 
heroic  effort,  and  the  hardly  concealed  scan- 
dal of  her  companionship  on  the  voyage, 
precipitated  a  relapse  of  Clandonald's  mal- 
ady, and  the  ultimate  severance,  some  two 
years  later,  of  his  heavy  marriage  bond, 
borne  during  the  lifetime  of  a  boy  who  died 
through  her  neglect. 

In  all  this  dreary  time  Mariol  had  stood  by 
him  and  held  him  up.  The  brilliant  mocker, 
the  professed  skeptic  of  all  tenderness  apart 
from  the  metaphysics  of  the  sex  question, 
had  developed  into  the  best  of  hard-luck 
friends;  and  their  agreement  to  travel  to- 
gether after  Clandonald  was  free  and  had 
left  the  army  proved  more  than  a  success. 

Now  they  were  drifting  homeward  again, 
Mariol  to  his  boulevards  and  the  fond  con- 
genial life  of  Paris,  Clandonald — to  what? 
Mariol,  with  his  keen  insight  and  ready  sym- 
pathy, saw  that  his  friend  was  returning  to 
England,  restless,  unsatisfied,  out  of  tune 
with  his  future  surroundings;  well  in  body 


LATTEK-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  51 

and  healthy  in  his  mind,  indeed,  but  in  no 
humor  to  pick  up  his  life  from  where  his  late 
partner  had  cast  it,  like  a  jewel,  into  wayside 
dirt. 

Mariol  had  hoped  much  from  their  visit  to 
America,  where  they  had  found  themselves, 
during  the  latter  part  of  the  season  at  New- 
port, subjected  to  the  overpowering  hospi- 
tality of  the  leaders  of  the  great  world.  But 
although  Clandonald's  antecedents  were  as 
well  known  and  familiarly  discussed  there, 
as  in  England  and  on  the  Continent,  and 
there  had  been  displayed  no  disposition  on 
the  part  of  society  to  visit  his  evil  fortune 
upon  him,  the  young  man  passed  but  ab- 
stractedly through  the  ordeal  of  charms  and 
graces,  defiled  before  his  gaze,  during  the 
hours  when  the  world  that  entertains  is  in 
evidence.  Mariol  sometimes  wondered 
whether  his  friend  would  not  have  been  more 
easily  consoled  in  an  atmosphere  less  sur- 
charged with  the  art  of  pleasing. 

The  moment  he  had  laid  eyes  upon  Miss 
Carstairs,  whose  patronymic  he  was  yet  to 
learn,  it  had  flashed  upon  the  Frenchman's 
active  brain  that  here  was  the  solution  of  his 
perplexities.  That  the  girl  met  so  thor- 


52  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

oughly  his  own  exacting  taste  in  externals, 
seemed  to  him  a  convincing  proof  she  would 
be  the  ideal  angel  to  step  down  into  Clan- 
donald's  troubled  pool  and  make  it  clear. 
Her  looks,  age,  good  breeding,  reserve  of 
bearing,  and  evident  fortune,  added  to  the 
fact  that  she,  too,  had  in  her  eyes  the  shadow 
of  past  sorrow,  left  the  kind  fictionist  no 
doubt  of  his  own  perspicacity  in  selection. 
He  had  addicted  himself  to  the  task  of  mak- 
ing friends  with  her,  with  a  promptitude 
facilitated  by  his  secret  hopes,  and  Clan- 
donald's  indifference  proved  the  more  pro- 
voking in  that  it  bore  every  aspect  of  prob- 
able enduringness. 

Mariol  fell  asleep,  that  memorable  first 
night  at  sea,  congratulating  himself  that  his 
cares  in  connection  with  matters  of  senti- 
ment were  so  purely  perfunctory,  and  that 
whatever  the  issue  out  of  Clandonald's  im- 
passivity, no  personal  interest  in  any  one  of 
the  disturbing  sex  could  ever  afford  his  men- 
tor other  than  the  emotion  of  a  scientist  who 
skewers  a  new  butterfly  for  his  microscope. 


CHAPTER   III 

THERE  was  to  be  no  complexity  attending 
the  position  taken  by  Miss  Pamela  Winstan- 
ley,  commonly  called  Posey,  in  the  considera- 
tion of  her  fellow-passengers  of  the  "  Bal- 
tic." From  the  first  day  out,  as  has  been 
said,  every  one  aboard  became  a  prey  to  the 
absorbing  interest  created  by  her  daily  move- 
ments, sayings  and  doings.  Beyond  the  fact 
that  she  was  travelling  with  her  father,  a 
Mr.  Herbert  Winstanley,  sometime  of  the 
Army  of  the  Confederate  States,  presumably 
a  person  of  very  moderate  social  place  and 
fortunes,  the  antecedents  of  the  radiant 
young  beauty  were  unknown,  and  she  was 
accepted  upon  her  face  value  alone.  It  was 
indisputable  that,  whenever  she  appeared, 
conversation  centered  upon  her  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  more  serious  topics.  And,  in  re- 
turn, Miss  Winstanley  lavished  her  effer- 
vescing good  graces  with  impartiality  upon 
all  admirers  in  attendance.  The  honors  of 
her  smiles  and  pretty  sayings  were  shared 


54  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

alike  by  Lord  Clandonald  and  any  minor  in- 
dividual of  the  impressible  sex,  who  might 
chance  to  be  on  hand.  Jolly  old  Lord  Chan- 
nel Fleet,  resembling  Santa  Claus  with  his 
roseate  face  and  white  fringe  of  a  beard, 
found  himself  vying  for  her  favors  with 
a  succession  of  American  college  youths  in 
sweaters,  one  of  whom,  famed  in  university 
circles  as  a  thrower  of  the  hammer,  stood 
about  in  attitudes  expressive  of  rank  jeal- 
ousy, whenever  his  sportive  lordship  was  at 
her  side.  Lady  Channel  Fleet,  indeed,  was 
known  to  be  nervous  lest  the  threatening 
young  man  should  do  something  dreadful  to 
her  liege. 

Miss  Bleecker,  Mrs.  Vereker,  and  sundry 
mothers  of  unentertaining  daughters  who 
struggled  into  their  deck-chairs  without  as- 
sistance and  walked  with  each  other  the  di- 
urnal mile,  looking  as  if  nothing  would  in- 
duce them  to  descend  to  the  companionship 
of  the  supporting  sex,  formed  a  number  of 
ingenious  theories  to  account  for  the  fair 
Pamela.  She  was  a  milliner's  forewoman, 
going  out  to  secure  fashions  for  Alison's 
Cross  Roads.  She  was  a  dashing  divorcee, 
who  had  resumed  her  maiden  name.  She  had 


LATTEK-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  OD 

been  a  barmaid  in  California,  an  artist's  model 
in  New  York,  an  assistant  washerwoman  in 
the  Klondyke,  had  tried  on  cloaks  in  a  lead- 
ing haberdashery  of  Chicago — in  all  of  which 
capacities  there  was  somebody  aboard  who 
had  known  somebody  else  who  had  actually 
seen  her !  But  of  suppositions  concerning  the 
charmer,  the  most  popular  was  that  she  had 
sung  on  the  local  stage  somewhere  in  the 
South,  and  was  now  going  abroad  to  study 
for  comic  opera.  For  in  addition  to  other 
devices  for  the  bewilderment  of  mere  man, 
Miss  Winstanley  was  found  to  possess  a  fas- 
cinating gift  of  rendering  little  Creole  chan- 
sonettes  that  conjured  up  the  warm  velvet- 
like  touch  of  Southern  air,  the  region  of 
palm  and  pine  and  mocking-birds,  of  orange 
flowers  and  Cherokee  roses,  and  the  love 
spells  lingering  around  it.  Then  she  could 
croon  "  Mammy  "  songs,  of  a  negress  hush- 
ing her  nursling,  in  a  way  to  bring  tears  to 
the  eyes  of  most  hardened  listeners.  And 
between  the  songs  and  croonings  she  would 
describe  scenes,  and  impersonate  actors,  with 
a  natural  fire  and  pathos  that  are  rarely 
taught  or  teachable.  But  of  this  accomplish- 
ment she  was  more  chary  than  the  rest,  and 


56  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

there  were  those  heard  to  declare  that,  on  one 
occasion  on  deck,  she  had  sung  tears  into  her 
own  eyes,  and  abruptly  stopped,  declaring 
she  did  not  care  to  do  it  before  more  than 
one  or  two.  The  incident  being  repeated  to 
Miss  Bleecker,  that  inveterate  lady  declared 
it  to  be  but  a  clever  bit  of  acting  to  whet  ex- 
pectation of  future  appearances  behind  the 
footlights. 

Amid  the  successes  of  his  daughter's  me- 
teoric rise,  little  Mr.  Winstanley  prowled 
about  the  ship,  a  solitary  and  somewhat  pa- 
thetic figure  in  his  evident  belief  that  self- 
effacement  was  the  first  duty  of  the  parent 
of  such  a  Phoenix  among  maidens.  Follow- 
ing his  abortive  reopening  of  acquaintance 
with  Miss  Carstairs,  he  withdrew  into  his 
shell  and  spoke  no  more  to  her.  Helen  re- 
proached herself  that  she  had  not  been  able 
to  conceal  from  him  the  repulsion  at  first  in- 
spired in  her  by  her  rival  in  John  Glynn's 
favor.  Old  "Winstanley 's  mild  twinkle  of  the 
eye,  the  smile  playing  around  his  thin  lips, 
gave  no  hint,  however,  that  his  retiring  at- 
titude was  inspired  by  offence.  He  seemed 
to  live  apart  in  a  world  of  his  own  thoughts 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  57 

and  memories,  from  which  even  his  Posey's 
triumphs  could  not  extract  him  for  long. 

And  Posey,  Miss  Bleecker  to  the  contrary 
(who  from  her  end  of  the  table  consistently 
glared  down  the  intruder's  right  to  be),  con- 
tinued to  reign  in  her  revolving  chair,  as  the 
established  queen  of  every  meal.  Her  quips 
and  cranks  of  fan,  her  lawless  sallies  at  the 
expense  of  those  around  her,  had  effectually 
banished  restraint  and  brought  the  diverse 
elements  of  their  party  together;  even  Helen 
parting  with  her  formality  to  join  in  the  talk, 
when  convinced  by  observation  that  Miss 
Winstanley  knew  nothing  whatever  of  her 
prior  acquaintance  with  John  Glynn. 

From  the  beginning,  the  Honorable  Bobby 
Vane,  Lord  Kennington's  scapegrace  boy, 
had  fallen  head  over  ears  in  love  with  Posey, 
and  was  ready  to  forfeit  his  not  very  bril- 
liant prospects  in  life  to  marry  her,  no  mat- 
ter in  what  capacity  she  had  previously  ap- 
peared. Posey  laughed  at  and  with  the  lad, 
enjoying  his  off-hand  gayety  and  mischief, 
and  there  it  began  and  ended.  The  Russian 
savant,  under  the  influence  of  Miss  Win- 
stanley's  presence,  forgot  to  grumble  about 
draughts  and  sauces,  and  smoothed  his  grim- 


58  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

visaged  front  into  affability,  answering  her 
in  English  as  choice  as  M.  de  Marlol's 
French.  The  old  German  count,  proving  to 
be  the  most  kindly  and  merry  of  comrades, 
developed  a  faculty  for  telling  uproariously 
funny  stories,  of  which  the  effect  was  im- 
paired only  by  such  a  strange  mispronuncia- 
tion of  the  English  tongue  that  his  auditors 
were  kept  supernaturally  grave  in  the  effort 
not  to  smile  at  him,  and  therefore  did  not 
smile  at  all. 

A  volume  of  Mariol's  clever  (and  happily 
innocuous)  short  stories  having  been  pro- 
duced by  somebody  and  put  into  circulation 
on  the  ship,  Miss  Winstanley  had  familiar- 
ized herself  with  them,  and  was  engaged  at 
odd  moments  in  translating  the  little  chef 
d'muvres  of  style,  with  Bobby  Vane,  in 
whose  imagination  a  book  of  any  kind,  save 
a  betting  book,  loomed  larger  than  an  ele- 
phant. 

Mariol,  to  whom  direct  address  from  casual 
people  upon  the  subject  of  his  writings  was 
an  affliction,  had  been  rather  dreading  the 
young  lady's  comments,  and  was  relieved 
when  she  disposed  of  him  thus  easily : 

"  I  think  they're  just  lovely,  Mr.  Mariol, 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  59 

and  am  trying  to  make  Mr.  Vane  agree  with 
me,  but  he  declares  they're  too  jolly  dismal 
and  give  him  the  awful  blues.  After  this, 
when  people  say  they  envy  me  being  at  table 
with  you,  I  can  truly  tell  them  you  don't  talk 
the  least  bit  like  your  books." 

"  Mrs.  Kipling  told  me  once,"  said  Clan- 
donald,  following  a  laugh  at  Mariol's  ex- 
pense, "  that  when  a  gushing  American  girl 
asked  how  she  could  endure  the  brilliancy  of 
a  certain  chat  between  her  husband  and  Cecil 
Rhodes  on  the  Kiplings'  veranda  in  South 
Africa,  she  had  been  puzzled  what  to  answer, 
because,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  each  of  these 
gentlemen  had  been  trying  to  talk  more  de- 
lightful drivel  than  the  other.  What  good 
luck  for  the  rest  of  us,  that  great  minds  do 
unbend  in  the  intimacy  of  private  discourse !  ' 

"  If  one  doesn't  talk  in  brief  paragraphs, 
like  those  columns  printed  in  American 
newspapers  for  busy  men  to  read  in  elevated 
trains,  one  isn't  listened  to,  I  find,"  said  the 
author,  ruefully. 

"  In  most  countries,  nowadays,"  observed 
Prince  Zourikoff,  looking  anxiously  to  see 
whether  the  portion  of  cold  braised  beef  left 
upon  the  platter  was  enough  for  his  liberal 


60  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

appetite,  "  the  fine  arts  of  conversation  and 
correspondence  have  both  been  driven  like 
chaff  before  the  wind  of  modern  restlessness. 
Nobody  converses,  few  read,  friendly  com- 
munication is  achieved  by  wire  or  telephone. 
And  as  to  introducing  a  serious  topic  into 
society — perish  the  thought!  One  would  be 
voted  a  superannuated  nuisance." 

"  I  have  always  thought  it  the  best  com- 
pliment a  man  can  pay  a  woman,"  said  Miss 
Carstairs,  blushing  a  little,  "  when  he  talks 
to  her,  in  earnest,  about  what  dominates  his 
thoughts." 

Mariol  flashed  an  appreciative  glance  at 
her.  Clandonald  cried  out: 

"  Heaven  defend  your  sex,  my  dear  lady, 
if  they  had  to  sit  still  and  listen  to  most 
men's  governing  thoughts.  And,  on  the 
whole,  there  is  nothing  so  wearing  as  a  per- 
son with  ideas  that  have  never  been  applied. 
To-day,  we  must  think  and  act,  and  accom- 
plish or  fail,  before  we  talk.  And  as  far  as 
talk  goes,  it's  everybody's  plain  duty  to  be 
amusing  and  not  long." 

"  To  come  down  before  the  footlights,  and 
do  one's  turn,  and  then  drop  back  again," 
interpolated  Miss  Bleecker,  with  a  glance  at 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  61 

the  beauty,  who  was  helping  Bobby  Vane  to 
a  baked  potato.  "  You  are  quite  right,  Lord 
Clandonald.  It  is  perfect  audacity  for  any 
one  person,  whether  clever  or  insignificant, 
to  attempt  to  monopolize  attention.  Every- 
body else  is  invariably  bored  by  it,  where 
they  are  not  laughing  in  their  sleeves." 

"  Have  you  seen  many  persons  laughing 
in  their  sleeves,  Miss  Bleecker  ?  "  asked  Posey 
Winstanley,  innocently.  "  Did  they  do  it 
when  you  were  young?  I  always  wondered 
how.  Mr.  Vane,  please  stop  eating  long 
enough,  to  let's  try  laughing  in  our  sleeves  at 
Miss  Bleecker.  I  reckon  she'll  tell  us  if  it's 
the  real  thing." 

"  There  are  places,  then,  where  they  do  say 
4  I  reckon, '  '  pursued  Miss  Bleecker,  impas- 
sively. "  You  mentioned,  Lord  Clandonald, 
how  much  you  were  disappointed  not  to  hear 
more  provincialisms  of  speech  in  America.  I 
should  think  Miss  Winstanley  could  give  you 
all  you  care  to  collect. ' ' 

"  Did  you  ever  hear,  Miss  Winstanley,"  put 
in  Mariol  quickly,  "  the  pretty  speech  made  by 
King  William  IV  about  a  charming  country- 
woman of  yours,  whom  some  one  asked, 
'  Pray,  do  you  come  from  that  part  of 


62  LATTEK-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

America  where  they  guess  and  where  they 
calculate  ?  '  '  Lady  Wellesley  comes  from 
where  they  fascinate,'  said  the  gallant 
monarch." 

Bobby  Vane  clapped  his  hands  approvingly. 

"  That's  rippin',  ain't  it,  Mr.  Mariol!  My 
goodness  me,  wish  I  weren't  such  a  duffer  at 
writing  things  down  an'  spellin'  or  I'd  make 
a  note  of  it.  What?" 

"  Come  to  school  at  Alison's  Cross  Roads, 
Alabama,  and  we'll  teach  you  how,"  said 
Posey. 

"  Helen,  you  will  find  me  on  the  boat-deck 
by  Mrs.  Vereker,"  said  Miss  Bleecker,  ma- 
jestically arising.  "  I  have  had  quite  enough 
of  this.  And  I  consider  it  my  mission  to 
spend  as  much  time  as  I  can  give  to  poor  Mrs. 
Vereker,  prostrated  by  care  and  anxiety  as 
she  has  been,  and  her  husband  never  allowed 
to  come  near  her  on  the  voyage. ' ' 

A  light  sparkled  in  the  wide-open  blue  eyes 
of  the  ship's  charmer,  and  a  smile  hovered 
around  her  pretty  mouth.  She  was  well 
aware  that  about  the  second  day  out,  the  crit- 
ical and  finical  Mr.  Vereker  had  joined  in 
the  universal  procession  toward  her  shrine. 
She  had  avoided  an  introduction  as  long  as 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  63 

possible,  compelling  her  ancient  admirer  to 
perform  wonders  of  intrigue  and  diplomacy, 
before  he  was  admitted  to  the  privilege  of  her 
acquaintance.  Since  then,  he  had  persecuted 
her  for  walks  on  deck,  secured  for  her  white 
violets,  at  vast  expense,  from  some  one  who 
was  taking  them  out  in  the  ship's  ice-box  for 
sale  in  London;  had  sent  to  her  table  daily 
tokens  of  regard,  from  pats  of  choice  butter, 
bunches  of  black  Hamburg  grapes,  and  broiled 
birds,  to  Southern  "  pin-money  '  pickles. 
Not  content  with  these  tangible  evidences, 
Mr.  Vereker  had  promised  her  a  dog,  and 
invited  her  to  motor  with  them  through  Tou- 
raine.  The  poor  man,  who  had,  in  Miss 
Bleecker's  parlance,  "  no  stomach  to  speak 
of,"  was  expecting  the  return  of  one  of  his 
periodical  attacks,  when  he  would  be  forced 
to  go  upon  milk  and  Educator  biscuits,  too 
enfeebled  to  walk  the  deck  and  flirt,  and 
wished  to  make  the  most  of  his  well  mo- 
ments ;  but,  so  far,  Miss  Winstanley  had  been 
constantly  engaged  with  others,  and  could 
not  yield  him  the  tete-a-tete  desired. 

Miss  Bleecker,  enlisted  under  the  standard 
of  a  complaining  wife,  was  gratified  to  leave 
the  party,  having  hurled  the  final  shaft. 


64  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

Mariol  liked  the  self-control  with  which 
Posey  turned  immediately  to  other  topics, 
no  less  than  he  appreciated  the  effort 
Helen  Carstairs  made  to  atone  for  her  com- 
panion's venom  by  remaining  awhile  in  con- 
versation that  included  the  girl  attacked. 
The  Frenchman,  who  noted  most  things  pass- 
ing near  him,  had  been  making  up  his  mind 
that  some  strong  personal  reason  existed  to 
keep  Miss  Carstairs  in  a  state  of  mental  self- 
defence  against  the  attractions  of  Miss  Win- 
stanley.  A  judgment  so  clear  and  cool  and 
fair  as  Helen's  in  ordinary  matters,  he  had 
rarely  seen,  and  he  believed  her  capable  of 
more  than  the  allotted  amount  of  feminine 
generosity  toward  those  of  her  own  sex.  As 
far  as  he  had  been  able  to  gather,  she  had 
never  before  seen  or  heard  of  this  mysterious 
young  person  who  had  made  their  voyage  so 
gay.  What  could  the  reason  be  ? 

It  had  not  escaped  him  that  the  Southern 
girl,  taking  heed  of  Helen's  low-pitched  voice, 
of  her  quiet  garb  and  reserved  manner  among 
strangers,  had  profited  by  them  to  tone  down 
some  of  her  own  extravagances.  Already, 
Miss  Winstanley's  hair  was  brushed  simply 
back  in  a  glorious  golden  sweep,  allowing  its 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  65 

natural  waves  to  reveal  themselves  untor- 
tured.  Already,  the  obnoxious  blue  dress 
with  its  lace  transparencies,  the  redundant 
jewelry  had  gone  into  retirement,  the  young 
girl  appearing  at  dinner  in  white  blouses  as 
simple  as  Helen's  own.  Better  than  all,  she 
no  longer  challenged  people  within  earshot 
with  her  sentiments  and  opinions. 

From  time  to  time,  Mariol  had  detected 
passing  from  her  to  Helen  the  glances  of 
homage  a  very  unsophisticated  girl  bestows 
upon  one  she  has  elected  to  make  her  heroine. 
And,  despite  this  artless  worship,  Miss  Car- 
stairs  did  not  relent  in  her  cool  demeanor. 
She  was  civil  always,  considerate  often,  but 
never  yielding  in  keeping  Miss  "Winstanley 
at  a  distance.  The  men  at  their  table  were 
unanimously  beginning  to  feel  that  a  girl 
may  win  easily  in  the  chief  events  of  such 
a  contest,  and  yet  be  badly  worsted  in  the 
end. 

The  only  one  among  them  who  seemed  to 
have  preserved  indifference  on  the  subject 
of  Posey's  wrongs,  was  the  quiet  little  man 
in  the  mustard-colored  tweeds,  with  the  cow- 
boy hat  of  sunburnt  felt,  who  accompanied 


66  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

the  beauty  to  her  meals,  but  was  rarely  seen 
with  her  elsewhere. 

One  afternoon,  however,  she  broke  away 
from  her  cordon  of  admirers,  and  finding 
the  old  fellow  walking  alone,  linked  her  arm 
in  his,  adjusting  her  pace  to  his. 

"  Why,  little  girl,  what's  come  to  you,  that 
the  beaux  have  left  you  no  better  company 
than  mine?  "  he  said,  with  the  jocular  hom- 
age of  his  habitual  manner  to  her. 

"  There  isn't  much  better  company  than 
yours,  dad,  and  I'm  beginning  to  find  it  out," 
she  answered,  caressingly. 

"  Well,  well,  a  compliment  from  the  belle 
o'  the  ship!  Reckon  when  I  get  to  London 
I'll  have  to  be  buying  myself  a  new  suit,  and 
a  dozen  o '  boiled  shirts,  though,  come  to  think 
of  it,  seems  to  me  I'm  no  great  way  behind 
that  Lord  Channel  Fleet  o'  yours  in  the  mat- 
ter of  clothes  and  footwear — regular  beetle- 
crushers,  those  shoes  of  his,  and  his  hat  an 
even  match  for  mine." 

"  He's  rather  an  old  dear,  anyhow,"  said 
Posey;  "  but  I've  got  another  ancient  on  the 
string  that's  too  foolish  to  talk  about.  That 
Mr.  Vereker — he's  dyed  and  made-up,  and 
always  fussing  about  his  digestion.  He  has 


'There  isn't  much  better  company  than  yours'  dad."  Page  66. 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  67 

a  young  doctor  travelling  with  him  to  give 
him  hypodermics  for  his  nerves,  and  they're 
going  to  some  queer  place  where  he'll  have 
to  walk  barefoot  on  wet  stones,  and  diet,  with 
a  lot  of  grand  dukes  and  things  that  he  just 
loves  to  talk  about.  Aren't  they  funny  though, 
these  old  society  men  ?  Imagine  you  prancing 
around  after  young  girls!  ' 

1  i  I  can 't, ' '  said  her  father,  simply.  i  i  There 
isn't  a  woman  living,  old  or  young,  that  could 
take  my  fancy  away  from  the  girl  I  won  in 
Baltimo,  after  the  wah.  She's  my  love,  the 
same  now  as  then.  You're  pretty  good-look- 
ing, Posey,  so  people  seem  to  think.  But 
your  mother.  Lord !  She  was  a  beauty,  and 
as  soft  and  gentle  as  an  evenin'  breeze." 

"  I  sometimes  wish  I  had  her  now,  daddy. 
Since  I've  been  eighteen,  and  everybody's  so 
good  to  me,  I  mean.  There  are  such  lots  of 
little  things  a  mother  could  tell  me.  And  to 
think  I  was  the  only  child  she  kept — the  very 
last  of  your  family — and  she  couldn't  have 
stayed  with  me!  Ah!  well,  don't  mind  me, 
dad,  I'm  happy  enough  with  you." 

"  You  certainly  don't  often  pull  a  long- 
face,  dearie.  If  there's  anything  troubling 
you,  out  with  it,  and  let's  see  if  I  can't  help." 


68  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

"  It's  rather  a  big  little  secret,  daddy. 
Maybe  I  oughtn't  have  kept  it  so  long,  but 
I  was  ashamed  to  tell,  I  reckon.  You  see 
nothing  like  this  ever  happened  to  me  be- 
fore." 

The  old  man's  faded  eyes  kindled  with  sud- 
den fire.  He  halted  her  suddenly,  facing  sea- 
ward, and  together  they  leaned  over  the  taff- 
rail. 

"  Posey,  it  hasn't  got  anything  to  do  with 
John  Glynn,  has  it?  "  he  asked  with  a  tremu- 
lous eagerness  of  joy. 

"  Yes,  daddy." 

"  He  spoke  to  you  before  we  sailed?  ' 

"  Just  before.  That  last  evening,  at  the 
hotel,  when  you  went  off  to  smoke  with  the 
nice  old  gentleman  you  fought  beside  at 
Seven  Pines,  and  left  us  sitting  in  the  corri- 
dor looking  at  the  people.  He  said  every- 
thing that  was  nice  about  you,  first ;  how  you 
had  been  his  father's  dearest  friend,  and  had 
helped  him  through  college,  and  started  him 
in  New  York,  and  he  loved  you  dearly,  and 
never  could  repay  the  debt.  Then  he  recalled 
how  he  and  I  had  known  each  other  as  boy 
and  girl,  though  he  always  thought  of  me  as 
nothing  but  a  little  kid,  until  he  saw  me  last 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  69 

year  at  home,  and  just  now,  in  New  York. 
He  told  me  how  hard  he  was  working,  with 
scarcely  a  minute  to  call  his  own,  and  what  a 
tough  struggle  it  would  be  to  get  up  top,  but 
that  he  meant  to  do  it,  if  he  lived " 

"  And  he  will — he  will!  "  interrupted  Mr. 
Winstanley,  in  accents  of  strong  pride. 
"  He  didn't  tell  you,  I'll  bet,  that  he  never 
took  up  my  offer  to  stake  him  with  funds  for 
his  expenses  in  New  York,  till  he  got  square 
upon  his  feet,  and  that  he  never  drew  a 
blessed  cent  of  it?  " 

"  He  said  you'd  been  more  than  good,  but 
he  wouldn't  impose  on  you.  You  see,  daddy, 
John  knows  that  all  these  years  you've  had 
as  much  as  you  could  do  to  keep  us  going, 
and  have  me  educated.  I  suppose  he  was  as 
surprised  as  I,  when  he  found  you  were  tak- 
ing me  abroad  in  style — you  extravagant  old 
thing,  you!  ' 

"  Of  course.  Of  course,"  murmured  Mr. 
Winstanley,  acquiescently.  "  It  does  seem  ex- 
travagant, doesn't  it?  But  we'll  manage  to 
make  two  ends  meet,  I  reckon,  if  we  pinch, 
afterwards,  to  make  up  for  it.  Go  on,  Posey, 
go  on.  Tell  me  the  rest  about  you  and  John. 
It  is  music  to  my  ears." 


70  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

"  I  thought  so,  daddy,"  the  girl  said,  with 
a  tender  sigh.  "  And  though  I  wasn't  quite 
ready  to  do  what  he  asked  me,  I  couldn't  say 
no.  So  when  he  said  you  and  his  father  had 
always  wanted  us  two  to  be  married,  some 
day,  and  would  I  consider  myself  engaged  to 
him,  until  he  was  ready  to  give  me  a  home 
in  New  York,  I  just  asked  him  to  wait  till 
the  next  day,  and  I  would  telephone  my  an- 
swer before  the  steamer  sailed.  And  I  did. 
That's  what  I  was  doing  when  you  called  to 
me  that  the  carriage  was  waiting  to  drive  us 
to  the  pier.  I  was  shut  up  in  the  telephone 
booth  at  the  hotel  saying  l  yes  '  to  John." 

"  And  you  never  gave  the  poor  lad  a  chance 
to  see  you  face  to  face  again?  "  exclaimed  her 
father,  every  wrinkle  of  his  face  luminous 
with  satisfaction  at  the  news. 

"  Ye-es,"  said  Posey,  "  I  saw  him  for  a 
minute  over  the  rail  of  the  steamer.  He  just 
rushed  down  from  his  office  the  minute  he 
could  get  off.  I'd  told  him  I'd  write  him  all 
the  usual  things  by  the  pilot-boat,  and  from 
Queenstown;  and  he'd  laughed  and  said  he'd 
have  to  be  satisfied  with  that!  You  mustn't 
expect  John  and  me  to  be  silly,  father,  for 
we  aren't  a  bit,  either  of  us.  I  ought  to  tell 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  71 

you  that  he's  been  in  love  with  another  girl, 
and  it  didn't  turn  out  well,  and  he  put  her 
out  of  his  thoughts  forever." 

"  So  that  was  what  ailed  the  lad  last  Spring 
when  I  went  North  on  that  business  of  the 
mine?  I  might  have  guessed  it,  poor  boy, 
he  was  blue  as>  indigo.  Well,  it  was  hand- 
some of  him  to  tell  you,  daughter,  and,  my 
word  for  it,  your  marriage  will  be  just  as 
happy  as  if  he  hadn't  taken  that  other  little 
notion  before  he  saw  that  you  were  the  real 
girl  for  him.  It'll  all  be  blown  away  like  the 
steamer  smoke  yonder,  and  he'll  wonder  at 
himself  for  ever  thinking  he  could  have  put 
up  with  the  idea  of  any  wife  but  you.  For 
that's  a  man's  way,  my  dear,  since  the  world 
began." 

"  Was  it  your  way,  daddy?  '  '  asked  Posey 
archly. 

"  My  child,  I  was  ready  to  put  myself  be- 
fore the  mouth  of  the  first  cannon  I  met  up 
with  when  I  went  into  service,  and  be  blown 
to  atoms,  through  calf-love  for  a  young  lady 
of  our  neighborhood.  She  jilted  me  to  marry 
a  widower,  a  Baptist  preacher  by  the  name 
of  Simkins;  no,  it  was  Lawson,  I  think — but 
never  mind.  She  had  nine  children  when  I 


72  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

saw  her  next,  and  we  didn't  recognize  each 
other.  When  we  did,  she  talked  to  me  about 
Simpkins'es  (it  really  was  Simkins)  asthma, 
without  a  break  for  fifteen  solid  minutes,  and 
I  got  away,  thanking  the  Lord  it  wasn't  my 
asthma,  and  my  fat  wife,  and  my  nine  chil- 
dren, howling  and  doing  stunts  all  over  the 
house — yet  I  lived  to  be  happier  than  any 
king  with  the  real  angel  of  my  life!  But, 
dearie,  it  isn't  the  time  to  be  talking  of  any- 
thing but  you  and  John  Glynn,  and  the  joy 
you've  given  me  in  promising  to  marry  each 
other  some  day.  He  is  the  finest  young  man 
I  know,  and  the  one  of  all  in  the  world  I'd 
choose  to  share  what — there,  you  do  the  talk- 
ing, I  can't  trust  myself." 

"  Daddy,  do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  the 
whole  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  the 
way  I  always  have?  Then  here  it  is.  What 
I've  promised  to  do,  I'll  do.  I  think  just  as 
much  of  John  as  you  do,  in  a  way,  and  I  was 
proud  to  have  him  ask  me.  But  I  felt  he  was 
doing  it  because  he  had  made  up  his  mind  it 
was  the  thing  of  all  others  to  please  you ;  also, 
because  it  was  safe  and  right  to  anchor  his 
life  to  a  girl  who  belonged  to  his  own  class, 
and  had  no  ideas  beyond  the  plain,  homely 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  73 

things  she  had  been  brought  up  to.  But  he 
doesn't  know  me,  in  the  least.  I'm  not  the 
girl  he  thinks,  only  a  vain,  conceited  creature 
who  loves  admiration  and  flattery  and  pretty 
things,  and  all  the  luxuries  I  see  other  people 
having  on  this  voyage,  and  the  high-up  places 
of  the  world.  I  want  to  live,  to  have  my 
fling,  and  what's  worse,  I  want  to  be  loved — 
really,  as  I  think  it  ought  to  be !  ' 

Her  voice  dropped  with  her  eyelashes;  a 
burning  blush  ran  up  and  overspread  her 
face.  Old  Herbert  Winstanley  asked  him- 
self if  this  were,  indeed,  his  little  girl,  his 
romp  in  pinafores  of  a  year  or  two  back? 
Whence  had  come  the  blooming  vision  of 
young  womanhood  who  had  supplanted  the 
Posey  of  his  recent  lean  and  struggling 
years'?  What  were  these  obsessions  controll- 
ing herl  He  could  not  tell,  and  meekly  bent 
before  the  blast. 

"  I  reckon  you  know  best,  daughter,"  he 
said,  clearing  his  throat  in  some  embarrass- 
ment. "  But  this  much  I'm  as  sure  of  as 
that  the  sun  is  in  the  sky.  You've  done  a 
wise  thing,  and  a  good  thing,  in  engaging 
yourself  to  John.  Be  true  to  him  and  to 
yourself,  and  the  rest '11  all  come  right.  Only, 


74  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

it's  fair  to  tell  you  that  you  and  John  aren't 
a-going  to  begin  as  poor  as  poverty's  back 
door,  the  way  we  did.  I've  had  a  little  streak 
o '  luck  lately,  and  there 's  cash  enough  to  give 
you  your  fling  in  Europe,  and  start  you  and 
John  to  housekeeping  in  New  York  in  pretty 
decent  style.  He's  a  luckier  fellow  than  he 
knows,  is  John,  only  I  don't  mean  to  tell  him 
so  yet  a  while,  or  anybody  else,  and  neither 
must  you,  my  girl." 

"  Could  I  have  a  cabin  de  luxe,  and  a 
French  maid  and  a  chaperon  to  travel  with, 
daddy,"  she  asked  with  a  glowing  counte- 
nance, "  instead  of  half  a  stateroom  with  a 
horrid  woman  who  drenches  herself  with 
scents,  and  lectures  me  about  keeping  the 
light  turned  on  while  I  do  my  hair?  Could 
I  have  a  little  string  of  real  pearls,  and  one 
lovely  pearl  ring,  and  a  rug  for  my  steamer- 
chair  lined  with  otter,  and  tailor-made  suits 
that  fit  adorably — like  Miss  Carstairs,  who's 
just  my  ideal,  though  she'll  hardly  look  at 
me?" 

"  We'll  see,  we'll  see,"  mumbled  Mr.  Win- 
stanley,  looking  as  much  alarmed  as  did  the 
fisherman  in  the  "  Arabian  Nights,"  when  he 
had  let  the  Genie  escape  and  soar  from  the 


LATTEE-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  75 

Magic  Bottle.  "  Seems  to  me  you  spent  a 
good  lot  shopping  in  New  York  the  week  we 
were  there." 

"  I  wish  I  could  throw  all  that  trash  I 
bought  overboard,"  said  the  girl,  gritting  her 
teeth  in  vexation.  "  Nobody  but  an  idiot 
from  Alison's  Cross  Roads  would  have  chosen 
such  things  and  thought  them  stylish." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  her  father,  re- 
signedly, "  but  putting  one  fact  alongside 
another,  it  looks  as  if  you'd  had  as  good  a 
show  as  any  young  lady  on  board,  daughter." 

"  Daddy,  you  are  the  dearest  old  bat!  ' 
cried  she,  revealing  to  his  astonished  gaze 
her  eyes  full  of  big,  bright,  childish  tears. 
"  How  can't  you  see  that  I'm  only  a  peep- 
show,  an  amusement  for  all  these  people,  and 
that  most  of  the  women  on  board  hardly 
speak  to  me?  I  don't  care  a  bit  about  that 
horrid  old  war-horse  of  the  Scripture  that 
snorts  and  champs — Miss  Bleecker!  I  con- 
sider her  beneath  my  notice,  and  she  may  in- 
sult me  all  she  pleases.  And  Mrs.  Vereker 
is  another,  and  all  their  set — dull,  stiff 
women,  with  nothing  but  their  wealth  to 
recommend  them." 

"  Well,  if  it  comes  to  that,"  murmured 


76  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

Mr.  Winstanley,  involuntarily  clinking  the 
sovereigns  he  carried  in  a  buckskin  pouch  in 
his  breeches  pocket,  then  checking  himself  and 
saying  no  more. 

"  They  may  say  I'm  a  chorus  girl  all  they're 
a  mind  to.  I  know  I'm  not,  and  that  you 
are  one  of  the  most  honored  citizens  of  our 
town,  and  we  came  of  good  old  stock.  I 
don't  deny  I've  wanted  to  go  on  the  stage. 
Till  lately,  I've  simply  yearned  for  it.  But 
that,  and  all  sorts  of  notions  I  had  seem  to 
have  vanished  away  since  I  came  aboard — 
since  I've  known  Miss  Carstairs." 

"  That's  the  young  woman  sits  at  our 
table?  Can't  say  I  blame  you,  Posey,  I 
kinder  took  a  shine  to  her,  myself,  the  first 
evening  out;  but  she  chilled  on  me  after- 
ward, and  I'm  never  for  troubling  folks  with 
my  attentions." 

"  She  chilled  on  you  because  of  me,  poor 
dear ;  for  any  nice  girl  in  her  senses  must  see 
you're  a  heavenly  angel,  if  you  do  wear  rusty 
tweeds.  She  thought  I  was  crude  and  ag- 
gressive and  cheap,  and  so  I  am,  maybe,  but 
I  don't  mean  to  stay  so;  and  if  ever  I  get  to 
be  anything  better,  it'll  be  Helen  Carstairs 
that's  started  me.  But  she  won't  know  it, 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  77 

and  won't  know  me,  and  that's  really  what's 
bothering  me  so  dreadfully,  daddy." 

"  Her  father's  the  great  Carstairs,  isn't 
he?  Didn't  I  hear  John  say  he'd  indirectly 
given  him  a  lift  last  year,  and  said  some 
good  things  about  the  way  the  boy  managed 
a  certain  office  job  that  came  under  Car- 
stairs'  eye?  ' 

"  Did  he?  There  now,  daddy,  is  just  the 
girl  John  would  have  been  wise  to  get,  if  he 
could.  She  might  have  helped  him  up  the 
ladder  by  just  putting  out  a  finger-tip.  And 
he  is  so  ambitious,  so  fastidious.  I  could  see 
that  little  trifles  about  me  jarred  on  him 
constantly — the  very  things  these  lords  and 
grandees  aboard  admire  the  most  it  seems. 
He  called  them  provincialisms,  and  Lord 
Channel  Fleet  says  they're  simply  delicious. 
Who  am  I  to  believe?  " 

"  Ah,  my  little  girl,  I  can't  tell  you,  and 
that's  the  truth.  But  John's  apt  to  be  right, 
only  whether  or  not  Miss  Carstairs  is  his 
ideal,  you  just  be  yourself,  and  don't  put  on 
any  frills.  You  can't  help  being  lively,  thank 
God,  nor  true,  nor  generous,  for  you're  your 
own  mother's  child.  You'll  make  friends, 
never  fear,  the  only  trouble  to  my  mind  is 


78  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

lest  they  should  be  those  who  care  for  you 
only  because " 

"  Why,  daddy,  one  would  almost  think  I 
am  something  in  disguise.  You  needn't  be 
afraid  of  any  one  on  this  trip,  however. 
They'll  all  forget  me  the  day  the  ship  touches 
Liverpool." 

"  Well,  it  don't  matter  much  when  we've 
got  John  behind  us,  does  it,  daughter?  I 
reckon  he'll  be  proud  as  I  am  to  hear  what 
a  belle  you've  been.  There's  only  one  thing 
it's  crossed  my  mind  he  mightn't  fancy  over- 
much— your  going  around  with  that  lord  fel- 
low that's  been  so  much  talked  about — that 
Clandonald  man,  I  mean." 

"  Oh!  daddy,  don't!" 

Mr.  Winstanley  had  thought  himself, 
through  experience,  prepared  for  most  of 
the  idiosyncrasies  of  femininity  as  developed 
by  his  daughter,  but  he  could  not  have  rea- 
sonably counted  upon  the  look  that  came  into 
her  face  as  she  made  this  protest.  It  caused 
him  to  stare,  shake  himself  like  a  wet  dog, 
scrutinize  her  again  narrowly,  then  utter  an 
exclamation  familiar  to  him  only  under  stress 
of  strong  emotion. 

"  Stonewall  Jackson,  daughter!  I  want 
to  know!  " 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  measure  of  Mr.  Winstanley's  curi- 
osity was,  however,  not  to  be  satisfied  on  this 
occasion;  since,  almost  immediately,  the  col- 
loquy with  his  daughter  over  the  "  Baltic's  ' 
rail  was  destined  to  interruption  by  Lord 
Clandonald  in  person,  who  came  up  to  ask 
if  Miss  Winstanley  were  ready  for  their  walk. 

Since  the  first  evening  of  their  meeting,  he 
had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  seeking  her  out  in 
a  half -shy,  wholly  unemotional  manner,  and 
of  spending  a  half  hour  or  so  in  her  com- 
pany listening  to  her  merry  chatter  and  in- 
sensibly lightening  and  brightening  out  of 
the  heavy  lassitude  that  had  possessed  his 
soul  for  so  many  weary  months.  With  re- 
turning animation,  the  real  beauty  and  high 
distinction  of  his  face  revealed  itself.  Posey, 
who  had  thought  of  his  title  merely  as  a  pleas- 
ing toy,  who  had  as  yet  acquired  none  of  the 
prevalent  worship  of  her  average  country- 
men for  the  glamour  of  a  place  among  the 
hereditary  nobility  of  the  lands  they  affect 


80  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

to  surpass  in  achievement,  liked  to  be  with 
him  because  of  three  things — viz.,  the  great 
strength  and  beauty  of  his  body,  his  gift  of 
beautiful  diction,  and  the  melodious  speech 
that  rang  upon  her  ear  like  a  chime  of  per- 
fect bells.  She  also  enjoyed  his  way  of  brush- 
ing his  hair  and  putting  on  his  clothes,  and 
not  caring  in  the  least  what  anybody  on  board 
thought  of  him  or  said  of  him.  At  least,  that 
is  what,  had  she  possessed  a  confidante  of  her 
own  sex,  Miss  Winstanley  would  have  ad- 
mitted concerning  her  indifferent  admirer. 

He  had  come  to  her  as  a  man  who  at  thirty 
considers  himself  to  have  done  with  life,  and 
consents  to  take  up  incidental  diversion  by 
the  way.  He  had  never  met  a  girl  so  ignorant 
of  the  world,  so  inexhaustibly  interested  in 
things  and  people,  so  fresh  and  healthy,  yet 
innately  refined,  so  daring,  yet  so  sure  of 
herself  that  no  man  might  take  a  liberty  with 
her  in  speech  or  action;  and  above  all,  so 
pretty. 

So  deliciously  pretty!  The  woman  whom 
he  had  ruined  his  life  by  marrying,  five  years 
before,  had  been  accounted  a  beauty,  and  was 
a  gentlewoman  by  tradition  and  association. 
As  he  had  seen  Ruby  Darien  last,  in  the  di- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  81 

vorce  court,  she  seemed  a  mere  made-up  crea- 
ture who  would  go  to  pieces  at  night  in  her 
maid's  hands,  a  thing  of  artifice  and  stimu- 
lant, of  base  passions  and  shallow  emotion- 
ality, already  a  has-been,  although  barely  his 
own  age.  At  what  time  of  her  existence  was 
it  that  she  had  made  his  pulses  thrill  with 
her  loveliness?  Could  he  have  ever  consid- 
ered Ruby  the  peer  in  looks  of  this  stray 
maiden  come  upon  by  chance  to  be  soon 
parted  with,  and  never  seen  again  ?  He  hated 
to  think  he  had  believed  himself  Ruby's 
lover  during  the  time  before  he  had  found 
her  out.  He  loathed  the  days  before  he  put 
her  away,  when,  for  his  boy's  sake,  he  had 
kept  on  terms  with  her  outwardly.  After  his 
child  died,  and  he  had  taken  his  opportunity 
to  be  a  free  man,  he  often  thanked  God,  that 
following  that  voyage  of  his  wife's  to  South 
Africa  he  had  never  thought  of  her  as  beau- 
tiful. 

But  except  for  the  somewhat  languid  admi- 
ration excited  in  him,  the  young  American  had 
not  yet  stirred  the  deeper  fountains  of  Clan- 
donald's  feeling.  Mariol,  observing  the  prog- 
ress of  affairs,  was  quietly  content.  He 
really  considered  the  acquaintance  with  Posey 


82  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

a  species  of  mild  cure,  like  a  visit  to  a  Ger- 
man health-place  where  one  eats  brown  bread 
and  baked  apples,  and  goes  to  bed  at  ten 
o'clock.  If  it  had  been  Miss  Carstairs,  now, 
upon  whom  these  desultory  attentions  of  his 
lordship  had  been  bestowed,  Mariol,  having 
ascertained  this  lady  to  be  the  daughter  of 
the  world-famous  financier,  would  have  been 
much  more  actively  concerned  in  forecasting 
for  her  a  place  among  the  white  peacocks  at 
Beaumanoir. 

It  was  about  Beaumanoir  that  Clandonald 
now  found  himself  obliged  to  talk  with  Miss 
Winstanley.  With  the  lightning-like  rapid- 
ity of  growth  in  steamer  intimacies,  they  had 
all  come  to  discourse  of  one  another's  domi- 
ciles and  surroundings,  and  Mariol,  whose 
aestheticism  rejoiced  in  his  friend's  noble  old 
forsaken  home,  had  shown  the  girl  a  photo- 
graph of  it.  Posey,  like  every  Southerner, 
had  an  instinctive  love  and  reverence  for  the 
historic  element  in  English  country  homes, 
and  the  ancient  moated  dwelling  in  whose 
grounds  monarchs  had  taken  their  pleasure 
appealed  keenly  to  her  otherwise  concrete 
and  contemporaneous  view  of  things.  To  see 
it  was  like  stepping  out  of  a  modern  railway 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  83 

station  into  an  old-world  garden  of  ripe  de- 
lights. And  to  be  actually  walking  up  and 
down  decks  with  the  owner,  albeit  he  looked 
like  other  men  and  had  his  hands  thrust  in 
the  pockets  of  an  indifferently  shabby  ulster, 
was  a  fillip  her  imagination  had  not  pre- 
viously known. 

A  little  teased,  a  little  flattered  by  her  que- 
ries on  the  subject,  Clandonald  yet  felt  as- 
sured that  her  interest  was  impersonal  and 
genuine.  When  he  remembered  how  Ruby 
had  hated  to  stay  at  Beaumanoir,  preferring 
any  small  stuffy  hotel  in  Paris  or  Rome,  or 
on  the  Riviera,  Miss  Winstanley's  real  enthu- 
siasm was  refreshing.  It  almost  made  him 
want  to  go  back  himself  to  that  spot,  haunted 
by  the  ghosts  of  dead  beliefs,  near  which  the 
poor  little  boy  slept,  under  a  tiny  mound  in 
the  churchyard  that  he  was  always  trying  to 
forget. 

Strange,  now  it  always  came  to  him  when 
alone  in  a  balmy  wood,  with  birds  singing 
and  sun  filtering  through  the  branches;  or 
on  Sundays  when  a  church  bell  rang ;  or  if  he 
awoke  suddenly  in  the  middle  of  the  night; 
or  in  looking  at  a  field  of  haymakers  and  dis- 
tant grazing  sheep!  It  was  not  a  keen  pain 


84  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

any  longer,  but  only  a  sobering,  tender 
thought,  and  the  man  was  better  for  it  after- 
ward. Now,  again,  as  he  thrust  his  hands 
deeper  in  his  pockets  and  strode  up  and  down 
beside  the  girl,  dodging  other  walking  pairs, 
and  wishing  there  were  not  so  many  people  in 
the  world  who  wanted  to  do  what  he  did,  the 
image  of  the  little  green  mound  arose  across 
the  waste  of  wide  Atlantic.  Was  it  Posey  who 
inspired  his  one  sacred  remembrance?  He 
could  not  tell,  but  went  on  letting  her  draw 
him  out  about  his  lovely  impoverished  Beau- 
manoir,  until  she  was  touched  and  astonished 
at  the  feeling  he  revealed  concerning  it. 

"  Oh!  I  am  sure  you  will  have  it  all  once 
more,  and  be  able  to  enjoy  everything  as  of 
old,"  she  exclaimed  impulsively. 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  know  why  this  is  im- 
possible/' he  answered,  gulping  down  the 
bitter  fact.  "  It  is  quite  hopeless  for  me  to 
live  decently  there,  on  all  I  am  ever  likely 
to  have  in  the  way  of  income." 

"  And  I,  like  a  goose,  keep  always  ignor- 
ing the  money  question  in  connection  with 
those  beautiful  entrancing  old  English  places. 
I've  read  about  them  so  often  in  a  book  we 
have  of  '  Dwellings  of  the  Aristocracy  and 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  85, 

Gentry,'  and  also  in  '  Country  Life.'  They 
seem  to  have  been  created  to  go  on  for  ages 
by  themselves,  in  a  state  of  suspended  ani- 
mation, like  the  Sleeping  Beauty's  palace. 
If  you  won't  think  me  silly,  I'll  tell  you  that 
when  I  get  hold  of  a  copy  of  '  Country  Life,' 
I  imagine  myself  living  in  one  house  after 
another  of  the  illustrations,  and  I  want  to 
buy  all  the  horses  and  dogs  and  sheep  and 
everything  in  the  advertisements,  except, 
maybe,  incubators,  which  are  horrid  un- 
natural things,  and  the  smelly  stuff  they  put 
upon  the  grass  and  flowers  that  can't  say 
'  don't'!  " 

Clandonald  laughed. 

"  Rather  my  own  idea.  But  I  supposed  all 
you  people  of  the  South  owned  large  estates 
and  many  acres  to  experiment  upon." 

"  Oh!  dear,  no!  We  personally  never 
owned  anything  bigger  than  a  back-yard, 
until  my  father  was  persuaded  by  a  man  to 
go  shares  with  him  in  some  land  I  never  saw, 
where  they  found  both  coal  and  iron.  Last 
year  the  man  died,  and  my  daddy,  who  had 
paid  up  most  all  the  purchase  money,  came 
into  possession  of  the  whole  property.  I  be- 
lieve it's  turned  out  better  than  he  thought, 


86  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

and  he's  lately  got  something  good  out  of  it, 
else  certainly  we'd  not  have  had  this  trip  to 
Europe.  I'm  glad  you  never  saw  Alison's 
Cross  Roads,  Lord  Clandonald.  It's  just 
the  homeliest,  pokiest  little  place  in  Alabama, 
and  the  people  are  good  and  kind,  but  com- 
monplace to  a  degree.  The  houses  are  all  of 
wood  with  jig-saw  trimmings  and  the  paint 
half  worn  off.  Nobody  thinks  it  necessary  to 
improve  anything,  and  the  negroes  swarm 
over  everywhere,  and  rule  the  land." 

"  Then  I  suppose  you'll  call  me  jolly  im- 
pertinent," said  he,  "  if  I  wonder  how  you 
grew  up  as  you  are  in  the  middle  of  it." 

"  I  don't  know!  I  just  did.  People  have 
grown  tired,  down  there,  of  holding  up  their 
hands  over  me.  My  teacher  at  school,  who 
was  born  North,  was  the  only  one  that  ever 
understood  why  I  wanted  anything  different 
from  the  rest.  She  took  several  magazines, 
and  told  me  about  others,  that  I  persuaded 
daddy  to  subscribe  to.  She  lent  me  books 
and  talked  to  me,  but  two  years  ago  she  de- 
cided to  marry  in  New  York,  and  I  lost  her. 
She  lives  there  now,  dear  soul,  in  an  awfully 
little  flat.  Her  husband  is  in  the  insurance 
business,  and  she  edits  a  column  of  '  Advice 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  87 

to  Girls.'  She  says  she  fairly  hates  some  of 
the  idiots  who  write  to  her  asking  the  most 
drivelling  questions.  But  to  please  the  edi- 
tor, she  has  to  dissemble,  and  call  them  dears 
and  answer  like  a  guardian  angel  when  she 
had  rather  choke  them  and  be  done  with  it 
— because  the  work  pays  the  butcher's  bill 
and  half  the  gas !  ' 

"  Has  she  taught  you  that  such  poverty  is 
evened  by  the  good  to  be  acquired  from  the 
married  state?  ' 

"  I  think  so.  At  least,  she  and  Mr.  Bart- 
ley  have  a  good  deal  of  fun  out  of  things. 
Their  greatest  treat,  when  their  maid's  cook- 
ing gets  too  impossible  and  Mr.  Bartley  is 
growing  thin,  is  to  go  to  dinner  at  an  Italian 
restaurant,  a  dollar  each,  with  wine,  and  to 
eat  enough  spaghetti  to  last  another  little 
while.  Mrs.  Bartley  got  fifteen  dollars  for 
looking  up  facts  and  dates  in  the  Astor  Li- 
brary for  a  fashionable  lady,  who  was  al- 
lotted to  read  a  paper  on  something  she  never 
heard  of  before,  at  a  meeting  of  her  literary 
club.  Mrs.  Bartley  ended  by  doing  the  whole 
thing,  and  the  lady  was  so  fascinated  by  her- 
self in  typewriting,  that  she  sent  a  check  for 
fifteen  instead  of  ten;  so  the  Bartleys  took 


88  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

me  to  their  restaurant  for  dinner,  and  after- 
ward to  the  play,  in  cheap  seats.  Yes,  I  think 
the  Bartleys  are  all  right.  If  their  kitchen 
door  could  be  kept  shut,  and  the  smell  of 
cooking  be  banished  from  the  parlor,  I  be- 
lieve they'd  be  as  happy  as  most  people  who 
are  married,  anyway." 

"  Perhaps,  if  you  and  your  father  are  to 
be  in  London,  you  would  let  me  take  you  out 
to  dinner  and  cheap  seats  at  the  play?  ' 

"  Wouldn't  I  love  it?  But  you  can't  drag 
daddy  to  the  theatre,  and  I'm  not  like  Miss 
Carstairs,  blessed  with  a  chaperon.  Do  you 
notice  that,  as  we  are  getting  '  half -seas  over, ' 
Miss  Bleecker's  English  accent  becomes  more 
pronounced?  She  is  forever  talking  about 
when  we  are  '  in  town, '  and  regretting  that  it 
is  out  of  the  season,  because  so  few  of  their 
great  friends  will  be  there  to  welcome  them. 
She  calls  all  the  American  duchesses  by  their 
first  names,  and  the  other  United  States  peer- 
esses that  she  didn't  play  with  in  infancy, 
she  must  have  brought  up  by  hand." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  too  lowly  a  personage 
to  claim  the  lady's  acquaintance  in  future," 
said  Clandonald,  indifferently.  "  But  I  con- 
fess I  should  like,  for  my  friend  Mariol's 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  89 

sake,  who  has  conceived  a  vast  admiration 
for  her  charge — to  manage  to  ask  Miss  Car- 
stairs  and  himself  to  join  you  and  your  fa- 
ther in  a  run  down  to  Beaumanoir  for  lunch- 
eon, while  you  are  *  in  town.'  It  is  pretty, 
there,  in  autumn,  and  there  are  sure  to  be 
some  good  peaches  on  the  garden  wall." 

"  How  adorable!  '  exclaimed  Posey. 
"  Daddy  might  go  to  that,  if  I  beg  him,  but 
Miss  Carstairs — !  There's  the  difficulty. 
She  won't  more  than  look  at  me.  I  wonder 
why  you,  who  are  born  really  higher  up  in 
the  world  than  Miss  Bleecker  and  Miss  Car- 
stairs,  never  let  me  feel  that  I  am  only  a 
druggist's  daughter!  ' 

"  In  Athens,  they  tell  you  Aristotle  kept  a 
chemist's  shop,"  answered  Clandonald,  laugh- 
ing. "  And  I  have  always  understood  that 
some  of  the  most  illustrious  of  the  families 
in  New  York's  Four  Hundred  were  founded 
upon  drugs." 

"If  it  wasn't  pills,  or  capsules,  or  hair 
tonic,  it  was  some  other  kind  of  merchan- 
dise! "  said  Posey,  viciously.  "And,  any- 
how, what  does  it  matter?  There  was  a  sen- 
tence I  copied  out  of  a  book  of  Maarten 
Maartens,  that  Mrs.  Bartley  lent  me,  about 


90  LATTEK-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

there  being  no  other  way  of  living  than  either 
on  the  money  you  have  earned  for  yourself, 
or  on  the  money  that  other  people  have  earned 
for  you.  As  long  as  that  simple  fact  remains, 
the  question  will  also  remain  whether  money- 
making  is  so  very  contemptible !  ' 

"  Try  any  man  living,  with  an  honest 
chance,  and  see  what  he'd  answer,"  said  Clan- 
donald  with  a  sigh.  "I'd  give  anything  I 
own  for  a  respectable  business  that  would 
bring  in  the  cash  and  the  knowledge  of  how 
to  run  it,  bien  entendu." 

11  You  poor  thing!  "  exclaimed  Miss  Win- 
stanley,  guilelessly.  "  Why  weren't  you  born 
in  dear  America'?  Of  course  if  you  could  go 
stalking  around  in  chain-armor  like  those 
ancestors  of  yours  at  Beaumanoir,  it  wouldn't 
seem  so  appropriate.  But  just  to  look  at  you 
as  you  stand,  to-day,  I  should  judge  there 
were  the  makings  of  a  fair  business  man  in 
you.  Look  here,  Lord  Clandonald,  I  don't 
know  that  I  was  ever  better  pleased  in  my 
life  than  by  that  idea  of  yours  of  our  going 
to  lunch  at  Beaumanoir  with  Miss  Carstairs. 
I  don't  mind  telling  you  I  just  adore  that  girl 
— and  the  combination  of  her  company  with 
a  moat  and  yew  trees,  and  wall-peaches,  and 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  91 

the  chance  of  seeing  English  rooks — and  Miss 
Bleecker  not '  in  it,'  I'll  be  eternally  obliged." 

"  It  seems  to  me  the  host  counts  for  unflat- 
teringly  little,"  said  Clandonald,  somewhat 
piqued. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  have  you  think  so,"  an- 
swered she  with  astonishing  gentleness,  "  I 
was  only  carried  away  to  forget  my  manners 
by  realizing  so  many  dreams  at  once.  Indeed, 
I  am  glad,  or  shall  be,  to  meet  you  again  after 
this  voyage.  Now,  I  'm  going  to  ask  you  some- 
thing that  will  make  you  laugh,  perhaps,  but 
please  don't.  Could  you  give  me  the  address 
of  a  really  good  place  in  London  where  I 
could  get  frocks  and  hats,  ready-to-wear,  that 
would  keep  me  from  looking  like  a  guy?  ' 

Poor  Clandonald  winced  at  thought  of  just 
how  he  had  become  acquainted  with  the  best 
faiseuses  in  London,  whose  bills  he 'had  paid 
to  the  uttermost  farthing,  after  the  ex-Lady 
Clandonald  had  ceased  to  be.  But  he  could 
not  help  smiling  at  the  earnest  anxiety  of  his 
questioner. 

"  I  think  I  might  help  you  a  little,  per- 
haps, but  surely " 

"  Surely  there  ought  to  be  some  woman 
aboard  to  do  it?  Of  course  you  think  so, 


92  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

but  if  I  could  tell  you  half  I've  divined,  and 
some  things  I've  overheard  from  them,  you'd 
know  I'd  never  ask  one  of  them.  Why,  I 
heard  that  old  Vereker  tabby  say  to  the  old 
Bleecker  cat,  as  distinctly  as  could  be,  that 
I  was  a  freak  in  clothes  and  a  bounder  in 
manners,  and  she  wondered  the  captain  let 
me  go  at  large." 

"Oh!  I  say." 

"  Perfectly  true,  and  I  had  it  out  of  her  by 
trailing  her  half -dead  husband  after  me  all 
over  the  ship,  until  he  hadn't  a  leg  to  stand 
on;  and  I  put  a  rose  in  his  buttonhole  under 
her  very  eyes.  I've  been  ashamed  of  it  ever 
since,  but  when  a  girl's  got  to  fight  her  own 
battles,  what  would  you  have  ?  ' 

"  There  should  be  always  some  one  glad  to 
fight  for  you,"  he  said,  suddenly  fired  by  her 
proud  young  beauty  in  distress. 

They  had,  while  speaking,  walked  down 
to  the  dividing  rail  that  cuts  off  the  prome- 
naders  of  the  second  cabin  from  the  first- 
class  decks,  and  for  some  moments  tarried 
there,  Clandonald  with  his  back  to  it,  Miss 
Winstanley  facing  him.  As  the  English- 
man spoke  these  unpremeditated  words  of 
warm  sympathy,  for  the  second  time  that 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  93 

day  there  had  come  into  the  girl's  artless  face 
an  expression  she  certainly  had  no  idea  of  re- 
vealing. It  caused  Clandonald  to  pull  him- 
self up  with  a  jerk,  and  stay  the  vague,  rather 
affectionate,  words  he  had  been  on  the  point 
of  uttering,  without,  perhaps,  meaning  to 
have  too  much  importance  attached  to  them. 
And  it  was  further  reflected  in  the  shining 
green  eyes  of  a  second-class  passenger  in 
shabby  black,  standing  near  by  the  barrier, 
wearing  a  veil  of  black  gauze  with  large 
coquettish  velvet  dots  that  half  concealed  her 
undulated  locks  of  unreasonably  ruddy  hair! 

It  was  not  the  first  time  the  green  gleam  of 
those  watchful  eyes  had  been  fixed  upon  Clan- 
donald and  his  companions.  He  had,  in  fact, 
been  under  their  close  observation  whenever 
practicable  since  leaving  New  York  harbor, 
in  the  course  of  their  owner's  predatory 
walks,  as  she  alternately  drew  near  and  re- 
ceded with  graceful  feline  tread,  seeming  to 
look  at  nothing,  yet  forever  alert  where  the 
good-looking,  lazy  young  Englishman  was 
concerned. 

The  youthful  steward  who  distends  himself 
for  the  public  good  by  blowing  the  bugle  for 
lunch  was,  on  this  occasion,  the  agent  of 


94  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

Providence  to  relieve  a  strained  situation. 
Clandonald  could  not,  in  the  face  of  such  a 
blast,  go  on  with  his  implied  offer  of  cham- 
pionship. The  second-cabin  passenger  glided 
swiftly  back  across  her  little  bridge,  and  was 
seen  no  more.  Miss  Winstanley,  announcing 
herself  half -starved,  went  to  her  stateroom  to 
wash  her  hands.  And  his  lordship,  to  calm  his 
feelings,  partook  of  a  certain  small,  specially 
reviving,  bitter-sweet  draught,  which  his  ser- 
vant had  acquired  the  gentle  art  of  mixing, 
during  their  sojourn  in  San  Francisco.  On 
the  way  into  the  dining-room,  he  found  Mariol 
just  ahead  of  him,  amid  a  conger ie  of  stew- 
ards hurrying  to  and  from  their  pantries  with 
their  arms  full  of  crockery,  and  in  an  atmos- 
phere tinctured  with  out-rushing  odors  of 
cauliflower  and  curried  rice,  gave  his  friend 
a  word  of  counsel. 

"  I  have  been  talking  with  Miss  Win- 
stanley," he  said.  "  The  truth  is,  Mariol,  the 
poor  girl  is  being  pecked  by  all  these  women, 
until  it  hurts.  You  have  some  friendship, 
perhaps  some  influence,  with  Miss  Carstairs. 
Persuade  her  to  be  generous,  and  take  the 
outsider  in.  It  will  cost  her  nothing,  and  I  'm 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  95 

hanged  if  I  understand  why  she's  been  such 
an  icicle,  as  it  is." 

"  Did  Miss  Winstanley  invite  your  inter- 
cession? "  asked  Mariol,  dodging  back  from 
contact  with  an  inclined  plane  of  mutton 
broth,  in  a  tilting  china  plate  marked  with 
the  White  Star's  emblem,  borne  aloft  by  a 
deeply  apologetic  steward. 

"  No.  Absolutely  no.  She'd  fight  to  the 
last  ditch  before  she'd  give  in  to  them.  But 
I  have  an  ulterior  motive.  I  want  to  ask  the 
two  young  women  with  my  dear  old  aunt, 
Lady  Campstown,  to  play  propriety,  to  come 
down  with  you  to  Beaumanoir  some  day  next 
week,  and  if  they  hardly  speak " 

"  Under  these  circumstances,  I  will  engage 
to  attempt  the  impossible,  though  whether  I 
achieve  it  is  quite  another  story.  I,  too,  have 
been  at  a  loss  to  fathom  Miss  Carstairs'  ap- 
parent intention  to  ignore  our  pretty  table- 
mate.  I  had  fancied  her  too  sure  of  her  own 
position  to  care  about  a  mere  difference  in 
social  status.  I  have  found  her  perfectly 
amiable.  But  if,  by  any  chance,  the  discus- 
sion of  Miss  Winstanley  comes  up,  there  is 
an  immediate  stiffening  of  the  muscles  of  -the 
neck  and  chin,  the  clear  eyes  become  veiled, 


96  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

and  she  turns  the  subject.  I  could  almost 
fancy,  but  that  they  never  met  before,  there 
was  some  personal  animus  between  them." 

"  Tell  her  the  girl  is  her  devoted  lover  from 
afar,  makes  her  a  model  in  all  things,  and 
that  we  owe  the  agreeable  modifications  of 
the  fair  Posey's  dress  and  manner  exclusively 
to  Miss  Carstairs'  example." 

"  That  is  a  happy  suggestion,  and  may  ac- 
complish good  results.  But  did  you  ever 
know  a  man's  eulogy  of  a  woman  effect  any- 
thing with  her  own  sex?  It  is  generally  suc- 
cessful only  in  confirming  the  worst  predis- 
positions, and  in  precipitating  animosity 
where  latent  antipathy  had  sufficed.  Still, 
who  could  resist  the  exquisite  flattery  of  such 
imitation  as  our  Posey's  of  Miss  Carstairs? 
Fix  your  day  for  Beaumanoir,  my  dear  chap. 
I  consider  our  cause  gained  in  advance." 

"  Do  you  know,  Mariol,"  said  Clandonald 
as  the  two  men  sat  down  at  table,  where  the 
ladies  had  not  yet  arrived,  "  I  have  some- 
times fancied  that  you  yourself  are  getting 
rather  under  the  spell  of  the  young  lady  you 
have  engaged  to  placate  in  Miss  Winstanley's 
behalf." 

"  Do  you  know,  Clan,  that  I  never  before 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  97 

suspected  you  of  the  imaginative  gift  ?  Noth- 
ing but  Jonah's  gourd — was  it  Jonah,  and  was 
it  a  gourd? — that  grew  up  and  withered  in  a 
night,  could  have  had  so  little  time  allotted  to 
its  natural  development,  as  a  fancy  by  me  for 
Miss  Carstairs." 

"  That  is  no  argument.  I  have  read  of 
love  affairs  beginning  at  the  Statue  of  Liberty 
and  culminating  before  the  Gulf  Stream  was 
crossed.  There  is  really  no  better  medium 
than  mid- Atlantic  air  for  the  growth  of  the 
tender  passion.  The  leisure  of  a  good  voyage 
is  like  the  forty  years  of  Europe  compared 
with  the  cycle  of  Cathay." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  exculpatory." 

"  I  wish  to  heaven  I  might  be!  "  exclaimed 
Clandonald,  smothering  his  very  genuine  re- 
gret with  a  forkful  of  the  roast  beef  of  old 
England  pastured  upon  Western  plains. 

The  talk  that  morning  with  Posey  Win- 
stanley  had  awakened  in  him  certain  emotions 
of  a  simple  elementary  sort  that,  in  spite  of 
him,  still  twanged  upon  his  heart-strings, 
pleasingly.  He  had,  however,  been  by  no 
means  prepared  for  that  upward  glance  of 
her  childlike  orbs  when  he  had  offered  her 
his  sympathy.  While  the  normal  vanity  of 


98  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

the  male  creature  thrilled  in  quickened  in- 
terest in  response  to  it,  his  judgment,  his 
sense  of  responsibility,  nay,  of  honor,  called 
upon  him  loudly  to  let  the  thing  go  no  fur- 
ther. A  patent  and  audacious  coquette  on 
the  surface,  she  was  at  heart  a  child  who  had 
as  yet  tasted  no  reality  of  sentiment  for  one 
of  the  dominant  sex,  and  to  whom  such  reality 
would  inevitably  come  with  extraordinary 
force. 

The  whimsicality  of  her  having  selected 
him — a  battered  plaything  of  the  Fates,  who 
did  not  want  her,  who  could  not  indulge  in 
her — for  the  object  of  a  dawning  first  pas- 
sion, struck  him  hard.  He  resolved  to  keep 
out  of  her  way,  and  considered  how  he  could 
have  his  meals  elsewhere,  or  take  to  his  bed 
for  the  remainder  of  the  voyage.  The  pro- 
jected luncheon  at  Beaumanoir  should  be  car- 
ried out,  and  that  done,  he  would  have  ac- 
quitted himself,  en  galant  homme,  of  all  that 
could  be  reasonably  expected  of  a  travelling 
Briton  toward  visiting  Americans  who  had 
contributed  to  cheer  his  voyage  across  the 
Atlantic. 

To  begin  the  new  order  of  things,  he  let 
himself  be  absorbed  in  conversation  by  Miss 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  99 

Bleecker,  his  pet  aversion,  who  leaning  over 
the  table,  her  ample  bosom  begarlanded  with 
chains  and  cords,  each  one  sustaining  some 
necessary  implement  for  the  aid  of  vision, 
far  or  near,  and  all  of  them  entangled,  was 
in  her  best  spirits.  She,  Lady  Channel  Fleet, 
and  Mrs.  Vereker,  had  been  in  their  deck 
chairs  since  broth  and  biscuits  to  the  pres- 
ent moment,  discussing  the  American  women 
who  had  married  into  the  British  nobility. 
The  three  ancient  heads  cowled  in  veils  and 
furry  hoods — for  the  air  off  the  Banks  had 
had  in  it  a  tang  of  ice — had  bobbed  together 
during  this  time  with  a  vivacity  of  movement 
suggesting  the  cinematograph. 

Mrs.  Vereker 's  sciatic  leg,  which  it  was 
the  mission  of  her  good-looking  footman  to 
keep  enwrapped  with  rugs,  when  he  could 
forego  flirting  with  the  ladies'  maids,  had 
been  frequently  exposed  to  the  biting  wind, 
and  yet  she  did  not  notice  it.  Lady  Channel 
Fleet,  who,  with  her  husband  and  a  maid,  had 
been  doing  America  economically  in  some- 
body's private  car,  at  somebody's  expense, 
wisely  kept  quiet ;  since,  if  she  shivered,  there 
was  no  James  to  wrap  her  up.  Miss  Bleecker, 
more  serene,  indeed,  than  Buddha,  in  her  po- 


100  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

sition  between  a  British  matron  of  title  and 
one  of  New  York's  leaders,  did  not  feel  the 
cold.  Except  in  a  parterre  box  at  the  opera 
(with  the  best  people),  she  had  no  greater 
idea  of  happiness  than  such  surroundings; 
with  a  long,  uninterrupted  morning  in  which 
to  rehash  old  stories  and  acquire  new  ones 
concerning  the  ladies  under  discussion,  whom 
she  secretly  considered  the  elect  of  earth. 

Lady  Channel  Fleet,  conscious  of  having 
had  more  honors  paid  to  her  in  America  than 
in  the  whole  course  of  her  undistinguished 
life  at  home,  was  proportionately  inclined  to 
be  critical  of  Americans,  now  she  had  come 
away.  Her  strictures  upon  their  extrava- 
gance in  living,  which  she  had  enjoyed  to  the 
top  of  her  bent,  the  largeness  of  their  houses 
and  the  smallness  of  their  grounds,  their 
ridiculous  way  of  running  after  strangers,  and 
the  extraordinary  interchange  of  matrimonial 
partners  among  people  one  knew  and  visited, 
were  interspersed  with  various  bits  of  gossip 
she  had  been  able  to  pick  up  in  England  con- 
cerning American  peeresses  who  had  not  re- 
ceived her  at  their  houses  and  were,  indeed, 
unconscious  of  her  existence. 

It  had  been  rather  a  bitter  pill  for  Mrs. 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  101 

Vereker,  who  was  hand-in-glove  with  all  these 
fine  people  both  in  England  and  New  York, 
to  have  to  listen  politely  to  Lady  Channel 
Fleet.  But,  then,  Mrs.  Vereker  had  already 
stood  so  much  in  the  line  of  incivility  from 
the  British  dames  of  high  place  upon  whom 
she  had  lavished  courtesy  during  their  so- 
journ in  the  land  of  the  free,  that  she  was  a 
little  hardened.  She  knew  that  on  arrival 
out,  she  would  go  from  Claridge's  to  stop  at 
country  houses  where  Lady  Channel  Fleet's 
star  would  never  even  faintly  rise.  She  was 
secure  in  being  able  to  buy  herself  a  good 
time  and  the  best  of  everything  wherever  she 
might  go,  and  felt,  on  the  whole,  content.  Miss 
Bleecker,  on  the  contrary,  who  had  no  such 
solid  foundations  as  her  friend,  felt  in  listen- 
ing to  Lady  Channel  Fleet  as  acutely  pained 
as  if  she  were  reading  one  of  Mr.  Benson's 
or  Mr.  Hichens'  novels,  wherein  modern 
Americans  of  good  society  are  made  to  say 
"  Popper  '  and  "  real  nice."  She  could 
hardly  imagine  how  her  nation  could  arise  to 
ignoring  these  dreadful  accusations. 

But  when  Lady  Channel  Fleet  had  inci- 
dentally let  fall  that  she  always  presumed 
Miss  Bleecker,  from  her  speech  and  manner, 


102  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

to  be  an  Englishwoman  born,  Miss  Bleecker 
had  forgiven  all.  She  redoubled  her  powers 
of  entertainingness,  brought  out  a  few  newer, 
racier  anecdotes  of  persons  known  to  all  of 
them,  and  the  luncheon  bugle  had  caught  the 
gossips  unawares,  making  them  feel  the  morn- 
ing quite  too  short. 

"  I  suppose  we  shall  see  you  at  Mr.  Vere- 
ker's  little  supper  this  evening,  Lord  Clan- 
donald?  "  said  the  chaperon,  suavely.  "  One 
knows  what  to  expect  in  the  way  of  private 
dainties,  when  Mr.  Vereker  entertains — game, 
wines,  pates,  caviare  put  up  for  him  on  the 
Volga,  flowers,  grapes  and  melons  from  his 
own  glass  houses,  and  such  turtle  soup  as  only 
the  Vereker  chef  can  send  aboard.  And  to 
think  the  poor  man  has  to  sit  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  drinking  milk  and  swallowing  little 
tablets  out  of  his  waistcoat  pocket,  looking 
gray  as  a  ghost,  and  thin  as  a  rail,  not  able 
to  touch  a  thing  of  all  his  delicious  spread!  ' 

"  Mr.  Vereker  has  been  so  good  as  to  in- 
clude me,"  answered  Clandonald. 

"  I  believe  most  of  those  at  our  table  are 
expected,"  the  lady  went  on,  in  a  hardly  low- 
ered voice,  "  with,  of  course,  one  or  two  ex- 
ceptions. When  Mr.  Vereker  crosses  alone 
they  say  his  parties  are  apt  to  be  a  little 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  103 

mixed.  But  with  his  wife  aboard — she  is  so 
thoroughly  exclusive,  one  need  never  fear." 

What  might  have  been  omitted  from  the 
words,  was  accentuated  by  a  manner  of  con- 
tempt whose  objects  there  was  no  mistaking. 
Mr.  Winstanley  as  usual  appeared  not  to  be 
listening  to  the  passing  chat;  but  his  daugh- 
ter lost  not  a  syllable  or  look;  Helen  Car- 
stairs,  also,  fully  appreciated  the  situation. 
While  Posey,  with  rare  self-control,  kept  her 
own  counsel  and  remained  silent,  Miss  Car- 
stairs,  flushing  faintly,  spoke  so  that  all  pres- 
ent could  hear  her. 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  one  of  those  who  fail  to 
appreciate  the  honor  of  Mr.  Vereker's  invita- 
tions, ashore  or  afloat.  Who  was  it  who  said 
to  be  left  out  by  him  was  a  greater  compli- 
ment than  to  be  placed  at  his  right  hand  ?  ' 

"  Helen,  I'm  surprised  to  hear  you  talk 
such  nonsense,"  began  her  chaperon  briskly, 
but  was  interrupted  by  Posey  Winstanley, 
who  with  a  grateful  glance  at  Helen,  spoke 
in  tones  as  quiet  and  measured  as  her  own. 

"  Then  I  am  certainly  past  getting  the 
benefit  of  Miss  Carstairs'  hint,  Miss  Bleecker, 
since  Mr.  Vereker  asked  me  first,  before  see- 
ing if  he  could  get  the  others ;  and  I  was  rash 
enough  to  accept." 


CHAPTER   V 

MB.  VEREKEB'S  little  supper  proved  all  that 
Miss  Bleecker  had  claimed  for  it  in  the  mat- 
ter of  exotic  luxury.  American  beauty  roses, 
as  fresh  as  if  they  had  bloomed  that  morning, 
decked  the  centre  of  the  board,  and  a  corsage 
bouquet  of  royal  purple  violets  lay  beside 
each  lady's  plate.  The  unpleasantly  pallid 
host,  with  skin  drawn  like  parchment  over 
his  lean  jaws,  his  hair  and  mustache  unnat- 
urally black,  sat  at  one  end,  and  (to  the  dis- 
may of  Miss  Bleecker,  who  had  been  made 
to  fit  in  at  the  side)  Miss  Posey  Winstanley 
upon  his  left,  opposite  my  Lady  Channel 
Fleet  in  a  rumpled  cotton  blouse,  still  wear- 
ing the  turquoise  earrings,  with  the  addition 
of  a  turquoise  chain  to  hold  her  eyeglasses. 

Posey,  in  severely  plain  white  voile,  with  a 
picture  hat  and  white  feathers  framing  the 
waves  of  her  splendid  hair,  thanked  her  stars 
that  she  had  had  Helen  Carstairs'  example 
in  dress  long  enough  to  profit  by  it  for  this 
occasion.  She  saw  in  half  a  glance  that  her 


LATTEK-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  105 

frock,  the  result  of  the  best  skill  of  the  .dress- 
maker at  Alison's  Cross  Roads,  who  called 
her  by  name  in  fitting  her,  could  not  vie  with 
the  dove-colored  confection  with  its  all-over 
embroideries  that  sat  so  easily  upon  Helen's 
erect  form.  But  she  knew  that  it  was  unob- 
trusive, and  the  little  slip  of  mirror  above  her 
washing-stand  had  told  she  was  at  her  best. 

It  had  been  an  ordeal  that  of  dressing  while 
her  cross  room-mate,  who  made  a  virtue  of 
what  she  called  "  retiring  "  early,  continued 
at  intervals  to  extend  her  head  like  a  turtle's 
from  its  shell,  and  inquire  whether  Miss 
Winstanley  would  be  very  much  longer! 
Posey  was  fain  to  go  outside  and  have  the 
finishing  touches  put  to  her  toilette  by  the 
stewardess,  Mrs.  Gasher,  the  bib  of  whose 
white  apron  covered  sympathetic  interest, 
since  she  knew  about  the  supper,  and  that  the 
ladies  to  be  present  were  dead  set  against  the 
beauty  of  the  ship.  When  she  had  stuck 
the  last  pin,  Mrs.  Gasher  maternally  in- 
formed Miss  Winstanley  that  she  looked 
pretty  enough  to  beat  the  Jews,  and  would 
find  her  'ot  water  covered  with  a  towel  when 
she  came  in  again  to  go  to  bed;  and  if  she 


106  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

couldn't  get  undone  herself,  never  to  mind 
ringing  up  Mrs.  Gasher. 

Under  this  cheerful  inspiration,  Posey  had 
marched  into  the  saloon  to  find  the  others  all 
in  place,  an  empty  chair  kept  for  her  at  the 
host's  left. 

She  had  been  hoping  to  be  next  Clandon- 
ald — for  no  reason  but  that  she  wanted  it. 
Instead,  she  had  but  a  cold  glance  from  him 
across  the  table,  at  which  she  quailed  because 
she  thought  she  read  in  it  displeasure.  And 
immediately  he  turned  back  to  his  conversa- 
tion with  Prince  Zourikoff  about  Silver  or 
Trusts,  or  Labor,  or  some  of  those  tiresome 
things,  and  looked  at  her  no  more.  The  only 
consolation  for  this  awful  blow  was  that 
Helen,  sitting  between  Mariol  and  Bobby 
Yane,  had  smiled  at  her  kindly  when  she 
came  in  late. 

Miss  Bleecker,  beside  the  Graf  von  Bau, 
who  occupied  the  seat  to  the  left  of  Mrs. 
Vereker,  decided  that  the  world  was  out  of 
joint.  Lord  Channel  Fleet,  at  the  right  of 
his  hostess,  looked  tired,  and  when  Miss 
Bleecker  effusively  addressed  him  upon  topics 
of  contemporaneous  interest  in  London,  gave 
her  but  scant  answers.  Graf  von  Bau,  after 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  107 

he  had  exhausted  civilities  with  the  lady  of 
the  feast,  had  but  eyes  and  ears  for  the  spot 
where  Posey  had  already  begun  to  outdo  her- 
self in  characteristic  nonsense. 

"  That  girl!  "  said  Miss  Bleecker,  between 
her  teeth,  to  Mr.  Charley  Brownlow,  a  seri- 
ous-faced, clean-shaven  New  York  clubman 
of  whom  the  utmost  his  friends  and  enemies 
could  find  to  say  was  that  he  was  "  always 
everywhere!"  "It  is  not  enough  to  defy 
poor  dear  Mrs.  Vereker,  who  flatly  said  she 
should  not  be  asked,  but  to  make  herself  so 
conspicuous.  See,  every  man  at  table,  except 
you " 

"  I  don't  know  her,  don't  you  know? 
Never  met  her  anywhere,"  interposed  Mr. 
Brownlow  gravely. 

"  Of  course  you  didn't — as  I  was  saying, 
every  man  at  table  but  you,  and,  I'm  glad  to 
see,  Lord  Clandonald,  can  look  at  nothing 
else.  I  suppose  she  went  too  far  with  Clan- 
donald, and  he  wants  to  put  her  back  in  her 
place.  Everybody  understands  old  Vereker 's 
rage  for  a  pretty  face,  though  I,  for  one,  can 
never  see  good  looks  in  a  common  person. 
It's  scandalous  the  way  she's  going  on  to- 
night. Mr.  Vereker 's  trying  to  make  her 


108  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

take  champagne,  and  she  pretending  she  never 
drinks  it !  Poor  Lady  Channel  Fleet,  what  a 
trial  to  sit  opposite  her !  Now,  we  shall  have 
a  fresh  batch  of  stories  circulated  in  London 
about  the  way  American  girls  act;  and  the 
worst  of  it  is  you  can  never  get  the  English 
to  see  the  difference  between  people  of  our 
stamp,  and  hers.  Why,  I  don't  believe  Lord 
Channel  Fleet  and  Clandonald  take  in,  at 
this  minute,  the  enormous  distance  between 
my  Helen  and  that  impossible  young  person. 
What's  that  they're  laughing  at?  Some- 
thing saucy  she  is  saying  to  Lady  Channel 
Fleet,  I'll  wager." 

"  What  do  we  do  for  chaperons,  at  home, 
Lady  Channel  Fleet?  "  Miss  Winstanley  was 
remarking,  her  head  well  in  the  air,  and  the 
spirit  of  mischief  securely  seated  in  her  eyes. 
"  Well,  we  don't  need  'em  greatly  at  Alison's 
Cross  Roads,  where  I  live;  but  if  there's  a 
party  at  the  other  end  of  town,  your  best 
young  man  generally  calls  for  you  in  a  hack. 
And  when  he  brings  you  home  again,  about 
three  or  four  in  the  morning,  you  give  him 
your  latch-key  to  open  the  front  door,  and  if 
you're  not  tall  enough,  you  get  him  to  turn 
out  the  gas  in  the  vestibule  before  he  goes." 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  109 

"  Good  Heavens!  "  ejaculated  Lady  Chan- 
nel Fleet,  growing  purple. 

"  Why  not,  I'd  like  to  know?  "  exclaimed 
Posey,  sturdily.  "  We  consider  it  awfully 
swell  to  be  taken  that  way,  and  the  fellows 
that  can't  afford  a  hack  generally  bunch  to- 
gether with  the  girls  and  all  go  in  the  tram; 
and  it's  lots  of  fun,  I  tell  you.  Just  bully!  ' 

Mrs.  Vereker  exchanged  glances  of  mute 
despair  with  Miss  Bleecker  and  Mr.  Brown- 
low.  The  others  laughed  frankly,  Clandon- 
ald,  only,  remaining  smileless,  and  Helen 
Carstairs  coloring  with  a  futile  desire  to  ar- 
rest Miss  Winstanley's  progress  in  confi- 
dences. 

As  well  attempt  to  stay  Niagara!  A  de- 
mon of  recklessness  had  possessed  himself  of 
John  Glynn's  promised  bride,  and  poor  Posey 
went  from  bad  to  worse,  talking  continu- 
ously, her  cheeks  flushed  to  the  color  of  the 
American  beauties  lavished  upon  the  table, 
her  eyes  glittering  defiance;  while  old  Vere- 
ker, who  had  desired  nothing  better,  ap- 
plauded her  every  utterance,  and  urged  her 
to  further  daring. 

"  She  should  stop  now,"  whispered  Mariol 


110  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

to  Miss  Carstairs,  who  was  looking  very 
grave. 

"  Oh,  indeed  I  think  so,"  answered  Helen 
earnestly. 

"  For  her  own  sake,  if  there  is  no  one  else 
whose  interests  are  to  be  guarded." 

Helen  started  perceptibly.  No  one  else 
whose  interests  were  to  be  guarded?  What 
of  John  Glynn,  and  where  was  the  friend- 
ship Helen  had  promised  to  keep  for  him  in 
lieu  of  the  love  she  had  withdrawn?  Im- 
pulsively, she  leaned  forward,  caught  Posey 
Winstanley's  eye,  and  into  her  own  beseech- 
ing, all-womanly  gaze  threw  an  appeal  not 
to  be  resisted. 

Clandonald,  who  had  begun  to  be  sicken- 
ingly  annoyed  by  the  scene,  and  as  far  as  pos- 
sible avoided  looking  directly  at  the  heroine 
of  the  hour,  happened  to  note  this  little  epi- 
sode. Remembering  what  Posey  had  told 
him  of  Helen's  influence  over  her  imagina- 
tion, he  was  touched  but  not  surprised  at  the 
younger  girl's  response.  Posey,  blushing 
hotly,  drooped  her  eyes,  and  in  an  instant, 
as  if  with  a  garment  cast  aside,  had  parted 
with  her  aggressive  gaiety.  During  the  re- 
mainder of  the  meal  she  sat  dull  and  spirit- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  111 

less,  and  at  its  close,  when  she  had  promised 
to  sing  one  song  for  them,  tried  to  get  out  of 
it  and  leave  the  party. 

There  was  a  general  outcry  of  remon- 
strance. Bobby  Vane,  coming  around  to  lead 
her  to  the  piano,  whispered  to  her  to  do  her 
best  and  silence  the  tabby  chorus.  When  she 
finally  yielded,  and  sat  down,  expectation  ran 
high  among  Mr.  Vereker's  faction  that  the 
girl  would  give  them  something  audacious  to 
be  remembered. 

It  was  but  a  "  Mammy '  chant,  she 
breathed,  rather  than  sang,  in  a  voix  d'or 
that  softened  all  hearts  within  hearing;  and 
before  they  could  applaud  it  she  struck 
firmer  chords,  and  began  Lockhart's  Span- 
ish ballad: 

"  Rise  up,  rise  up,  Xarifa, 
And  lay  your  golden  cushion  down." 

The  song  and  its  setting  were  unfamiliar 
to  most  of  those  present.  While  it  lasted, 
they  forgot  the  grinding  of  mighty  screws 
that  bore  the  ship  ever  forward,  they  heard 
not  the  wash  of  ocean  coming  through  the 
open  ports.  They  were  in  ancient  days  of 
warlike  Spain,  and  all  their  sympathy  was 


112  LATTEK-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

for  the  lovely  Moorish  lady  forsaken  by  false 
Abdallah.  Everybody  within  hearing  was 
drawn  irresistibly  to  listen  in  ravished  silence. 
And  when  for  the  last  time  the  hapless  Xarif a 
refused  to  come  to  the  window  and  "  gaze  with 
all  the  town  "  at  her  recreant  lover  riding  by 
in  state,  the  honors  of  the  evening  were  clearly 
for  Posey  Winstanley.  At  that  moment,  all 
but  a  few  of  the  audience  were  prepared  to 
be  led  or  used  by  her,  as  one  feels  when  Calve 
softens  to  sing  a  folk-song  of  her  native  land. 

Amid  the  patter  of  applause  Miss  Win- 
stanley abruptly  arose  from  the  piano,  and 
said  she  was  going  out  to  get  a  breath  of  air. 
There  were  protestations,  but  only  the  host, 
who  looked  at  her  with  bleared,  enraptured 
eyes,  ventured  to  ask  her  to  sing  again.  Then, 
Mr.  Vereker  finding  his  proposition  for  Lillian 
Eussell's  latest  success  unheeded,  allowed  the 
departure  of  his  star,  rejecting  all  offers  of 
companionship,  to  be  the  signal  for  breaking 
up  the  affair. 

Everybody  scattered,  the  men  to  the  smok- 
ing-room, the  ladies  to  their  cabins.  Helen 
Carstairs,  with  her  maid  in  attendance,  came 
back  almost  immediately,  and  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment hesitating  in  the  companion-way  of  the 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  113 

deck  where  she  had  last  seen  Posey.  Here  she 
encountered  Clandonald,  who,  like  herself, 
seemed  to  be  at  a  loss. 

"  I  am  undertaking  a  formidable  task,"  she 
said.  "  To  look  for  a  missing  person  in  this 
ship ;  but  have  you  chanced  to  see  Miss  Win- 
stanley  anywhere?  ' 

She  saw  that  his  face  was  clouded,  his  calm 
ruffled. 

11  I  myself  have  been  on  the  same  search," 
he  said,  brusquely.  "  But  we  may  as  well 
spare  our  pains.  The  young  lady  in  question 
appears  to  be  at  present  under  charge  of  Mr. 
Vereker. ' ' 

Helen  had  but  time  to  let  her  face  show  the 
annoyance  of  her  feelings,  when  out  of  the 
clear  obscure  of  the  deck  beyond,  against  a 
background  of  sky  ' '  patined  with  such  bright 
stars  "  as  never  Shakespeare  saw,  came  to 
them  a  flying  figure.  It  was  Posey,  flushed 
with  angry  blood,  and  after  her  limped  their 
host  of  the  evening,  his  spectral  face  wreathed 
in  apologetic  smiles. 

"  Oh!  please,  Miss  Carstairs,  may  I  stay 
with  you?  "  exclaimed  the  girl  with  quiver- 
ing lips,  in  her  agitation  putting  herself  be- 
tween Helen  and  Clandonald,  who  involun- 


114  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

tarily  interposed  his  stalwart  form  so  that 
none  else  could  approach  her.  "  I  didn't 
realize  how  late  it  was  when  I  went  out  to  be 
by  myself  in  the  fresh  air." 

"  Miss  Winstanley  is  just  a  leetle  nervous 
after  her  triumphs  of  to-night,"  began  Mr. 
Vereker,  who  had  come  up  with  them — 
smoothly,  but  ill  at  ease. 

"  I  am  not  nervous.  I  never  was  in  my 
life,"  cried  the  girl,  stamping  her  foot.  "  It 
is  because — because " 

She  ended  in  a  burst  of  passionate  tears. 

"  Let  me  go  with  you  to  your  room,"  said 
Helen,  gently.  "  I  had  wanted  to  ask  you 
for  a  little  walk,  but  it  is  late  now,  and  the 
deck  people  are  for  putting  us  all  to  bed." 

"  High-strung  little  filly,  and  green;  green 
as  grass,"  observed  Mr.  Vereker  to  Clan- 
donald,  as  Miss  Carstairs  disappeared,  lead- 
ing Posey  down  the  corridor.  "  If  you're  up 
to  a  little  poker  in  the  smoking-room,  I  can 
tell  you  a  thing  or  two  about  our  bewitching 
girl  from  Dixieland  that  will  amuse  you 
greatly." 

"  You  will  excuse  me,"  answered  Clan- 
donald,  with  lightning  in  his  gaze.  Mariol, 
passing  in  at  the  moment,  saw  Vereker  shrivel 


LATTEK-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  115 

under  it  and  disappear.  Clandonald  gave  his 
friend  a  clue  to  the  situation. 

"  If  you  had  followed  your  impulse  and 
punched  the  old  sinner's  head,"  commented 
Mariol,  "  it  might  have  been  a  poor  return 
for  his  hospitality,  but  a  mighty  relief  to 
you.  However,  we  can  safely  leave  him  to 
the  gods  for  punishment.  He  will  probably 
go  under  to-morrow,  with  one  of  his  attacks, 
because  he  drank  champagne  for  supper.  I 
understand  that  a  trained  nurse  for  him 
makes  part  of  the  Verekers'  travelling  suite. 
He  will  become  a  horrid  elderly  infant  in  her 
hands.  I  am  glad  Miss  Carstairs  came  to  the 
relief.  I  hope  you  noticed  that  fine  move- 
ment of  hers  to  check  the  exuberance  of  the 
younger  girl  ?  I  had  no  time  to  put  your  sug- 
gestion to  enlist  her  into  effect  before  the 
thing  occurred.  And  now " 

"  Now,  I  think  we  may  count  upon  our 
day  all  together  at  Beaumanoir.  But  till 
then,  and  after  it,  Mariol,  I  mean  to  keep 
my  distance  from  Miss  Winstanley." 

"The  trouble  was  that  you  began  doing  it 
too  suddenly.  From  the  moment  she  caught 
sight  of  your  glum  countenance  at  supper 
the  sparkle  went  out  of  things  for  her.  But, 


116  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

bon  Dieu,  what  a  gift  she  has,  that  untrained 
creature!  Somebody  ought  to  take  charge 
of  her  musical  education,  and  in  a  few  years 
she  would  witch  the  world." 

"  There  is  something  better  for  a  pure, 
straightforward  being  like  that  to  do  than 
to  witch  the  world  behind  footlights,"  said 
Clandonald  doggedly.  "  I  can't  think  of  it 
for  her." 

"  My  advice  to  you  is  to  get  off  at  Queens- 
town,"  answered  Mariol  as  they  separated 
for  the  night. 

"  You  are  not  sleepy?  That's  good,  for 
I'm  not,  either,  and  I'll  just  send  away  Eu- 
lalie,  and  we'll  go  into  my  room  and  talk." 

Posey's  heart  lightened  with  pleasure  as 
she  followed  Miss  Carstairs  inside  the  pretty 
bower  Eulalie's  skill  had  contrived  from  her 
young  lady 's  belongings  for  the  voyage.  What 
a  contrast  to  the  half  of  a  dull  inside  cabin 
which  Mr.  Winstanley,  in  his  simplicity,  had 
accepted  for  Posey  from  the  agent  of  whom 
he  had  purchased  places;  with  the  spinster 
room-mate  humped  under  the  bedclothes  on 
the  sofa;  her  clothes  and  hats  hanging  over- 
head distractedly;  their  steamer  trunks  and 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  117 

bags  encumbering  the  narrow  space  between 
hers  and  Posey's  berths  1 

Here  were  unimagined  comforts,  order, 
nicety,  a  little  brass  bed  with  flowery  cur- 
tains, softest  pillows  and  duvets,  a  bath  room 
opening  out,  with  porcelain  tub;  an  equip- 
ment for  the  toilet  that  astounded  Posey,  till 
then  content  with  her  little  cotton  night-gown 
trimmed  with  tatting,  her  kimono  of  cheap 
blue  flannel  bought  ready-made,  her  one  brush 
and  comb,  and  tooth-brush,  and  bottle  of  So- 
zodont,  her  knitted  slippers,  and  the  steamer- 
pocket  of  blue  denim  with  the  motto  "  Bon 
voyage,"  presented  to  her  on  leaving  Alison's 
Cross  Roads  by  her  friend  the  dressmaker! 
But  she  showed  no  more  surprise  than  an  In- 
dian does  on  his  first  visit  to  the  glories  of 
the  White  Father  at  Washington.  Truth  to 
tell,  she  had  already  arrived  at  the  stage  of 
development  where  things  tangible  have  be- 
come of  secondary  importance  to  feelings 
and  emotions.  She  had  passed,  that  evening, 
through  so  many  varying  phases  of  mental 
experience,  that  Helen  Carstairs'  new  kind- 
ness seemed  the  opening  of  the  gate  of 
Heaven. 

"  Now  if  you  feel  like  it,  and  think  it  will 


118  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

do  you  good,"  said  Helen,  installing  her  in  a 
cushioned  chair  of  Madeira  wicker-work,  and, 
herself,  perching  school-girl  fashion  on  the 
settee,  "  you  must  tell  me  what  troubled  you, 
though  I  think  I  can  guess." 

"  He  tried  to  kiss  me,  that  hateful  old 
mummy  that  I've  done  nothing  but  make  fun 
of  on  the  voyage,"  cried  the  girl,  fiery  blushes 
streaming  into  her  face.  "  If  he  hadn't  said 
such  fool-words  when  he  did  it,  I  might  have 
thought  he  was  just  like  old  Grandfather 
Billings  of  our  town,  that  always  dodders 
along  in  the  sunshine  and  kisses  the  girls 
when  they  stop  to  speak  to  him,  thinking 
they're  their  own  grandmothers.  But  even 
Grandfather  Billings  has  never  kissed  me.  I 
hate  it,  and  never  would  put  up  with  it  from 
a  living  soul,  so  when  old  Vereker  tried  it  on, 
I  boxed  his  ears,  and  boxed  to  hurt,  too,  and 
then  I  ran  away.  What  business  had  he  fol- 
lowing me  out  on  deck,  anyway,  when  I'd 
said  I  wanted  to  be  by  myself?  If  daddy 
knew — but  he  shan't  know,  he's  too  good  to 
trouble,  and  I  reckon  I  can  take  care  of  my- 
self." 

She   ended  bravely,   but   one   glance   into 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  119 

Helen's  grave,  kind  face  sent  her  again  into 
tears. 

"  Oh!  Miss  Carstairs,  don't  mind  me.  Let 
me  be  a  little  while,  and  I'll  promise  not  to 
bother  you  again.  After  you  looked  at  me 
that  time  at  supper,  I  seemed  to  shrink  up 
into  such  a  poor  pretending  creature.  I  saw 
in  a  flash  how  cheaply  I'd  been  *  showing  off.' 
It  was  mostly  to  make  those  people  that  looked 
down  on  me  sit  up  on  their  hind  legs,  anyway ! 
I  felt  common  and  half-bred  beside  you,  whom 
I'd  been  trying  so  hard  to  imitate  since  we 
came  aboard.  I  do  want  to  be  a  lady,  your 
kind,  I  do,  I  do.  Not  only  for  my  own  sake, 
and  my  mother's,  who  was  a  real  one,  but  be- 
cause— if  you  only  knew " 

"  I  am  ready  to  know,"  said  Helen,  after  a 
pause,  her  voice,  in  spite  of  her,  curiously  flat- 
tened. 

"  I  am  engaged  to  marry  a  man,  to  whom 
it  will  mean  everything  that  I  shall  be,  let  me 
say,  all  you  are.  And  there's  a  great  reason 
why  I  should  try  to  please  him  in  those  things. 
How  strange  that  I  should  want  to  tell  you 
such  an  intimate  secret,  out  of  my  very  heart ! 
But  there  is  no  other  woman  I  can  talk  to, 


120  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

and  that  look  you  gave  me  seemed  to  open 
every  door  within  me!  " 

"  I  will  help  you  if  I  can,"  Helen  breathed, 
rather  than  spoke.  Her  spirit,  wrestling  with 
the  certainty  that  crushed  it,  was  yet  ready 
to  rise  to  generosity.  Was  it  not  what  she 
had  bid  John  Glynn  do  in  the  moment  of  his 
acutest  suffering?  Find  a  younger,  fresher, 
more  trustful  life-partner  than  herself,  and 
put  swiftly  out  of  mind  their  disastrous  ven- 
ture together  that  could  not  end  in  happi- 
ness !  What  right  had  she  to  be  feeling  these 
fierce  heart-beats  of  rebellion  against  the 
child's  superior  claim  upon  him,  these  des- 
perate yearnings  to  have  him  back  again? 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  let  you  know  what  will 
make  you  think  even  less  of  me  than  you  do. 
When  I  promised  myself  to  John  Glynn — 
there  I've  told  you  his  name,  but  it  doesn't 
matter — I  did  so  because  I  thought  it  would 
make  my  dear  daddy,  who  was  in  some  sort  his 
guardian  and  his  father's  best  friend — hap- 
pier than  anything  in  the  world.  Also,  I  was 
flattered  that  he  should  ask  me.  Down  at 
Alison's,  where  John  lived  as  a  boy,  they 
think  he  has  taken  the  head  of  his  firm  into 
business  with  him,  and  that  all  New  York 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  121 

looks  on  admiringly.  He's  about  the  greatest 
hero  we  have  after  Lee  and  Davis.  He's  a 
splendid  man,  Miss  Carstairs,  perhaps  you 
have  heard  of  him?  I  remember  now,  daddy 
said  Mr.  Carstairs  had  spoken  well  of  John. 
When  that  Lady  Channel  Fleet  had  the  cheek 
to  say  at  supper,  she  considered  the  Ameri- 
can men,  as  a  rule,  inferior  to  their  women, 
and  decidedly  so  to  Englishmen,  I  could  have 
flown  at  her,  and  asked  her  to  wait  till  she'd 
seen  John." 

Helen,  conscious  that  something  of  the 
same  mental  protest  had  formulated  itself  in 
her  during  the  same  period  of  provocation, 
could  not  forbear  a  smile.  Fortunately,  Miss 
Winstanley,  being  fairly  launched  upon  her 
-confidence,  did  not  pause  for  answer  or  com- 
ment. 

"  You  will  see,  then,  that  I  do  honestly 
mean  to  be  what  I  ought,  to  John — that — I 
have  no  other  wish  or  fancy — and  yet  there 
is  another  influence  that's  come  without  my 
seeking — one  that  could  not  bring  me  happi- 
ness. It  frightens  me  to  think  of  it.  I  don't 
know  what  to  do,  where  to  turn.  Think  of 
putting  the  thing  of  a  day  and  hour  against 
the  other,  the  safe  one,  the  true  one!  Yes, 


122  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

it  frightens  me.  Miss  Carstairs,  you  are  older 
and  wiser  than  I,  tell  me  what  I  shall  do  to 
conquer  it?  ' 

All  the  voices  in  Helen's  heart  sang  in 
chorus,  in  answer  to  this  simple  and  pathetic 
appeal.  The  voice  of  joy,  the  voice  of  tempta- 
tion were  louder  for  awhile  than  the  others, 
but  she  dared  not  let  them  prevail.  She  had 
never  been  a  demonstrative  person,  and  the 
touching  of  strangers,  under  no  matter  what 
stress  of  sympathy,  was  an  impossibility  to 
her.  She  did  not.  therefore,  "  lock  Posey  in 
a  warm  embrace  "  and  "  kiss  her  upon  the 
virgin  brow,"  bidding  her  be  of  good  cheer, 
as  all  would  yet  be  well  between  John  Glynn 
and  herself.  But  she  told  her,  calmly  and 
dispassionately,  that  'it  is  probable  no  girl 
ever  grew  up  to  womanhood  to  escape  some 
errant  fancy  for  a  man  whom  she  afterwards 
thanked  God  she  had  not  been  allowed  by 
Destiny  or  her  parents  to  marry.  She  coun- 
selled her  to  indulge  in  no  dreams  or  reveries 
or  self -questionings  about  the  matter,  but  to 
keep  to  the  pledge  she  had  made,  and  give  all 
her  energies  to  the  task  of  making  a  good 
man  happy. 

Posey  brightened  wonderfully  during  Miss 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  123 

Carstairs'  little  lecture.  As  she  ran  off  to 
bed,  it  was  with  the  joyful  step  of  a  freed 
school-girl  and  the  feeling  that  she  was  not 
altogether  steeped  in  wickedness.  Half-way 
down  the  corridor,  she  turned,  ran  back,  and 
ventured  to  knock  again  at  Miss  Carstairs' 
door.  Her  errand  was  the  very  feminine  one 
of  asking  Helen  to  be  so  good  as  to  undo  "  two 
wretched  hooks  "  in  the  region  of  her  shoul- 
der-blades; a  service  she  knew  Mrs.  Gasher 
would  never  at  that  late  hour  be  awake  to 
perform  for  her.  When  Miss  Carstairs 
opened  the  door,  standing  in  the  aperture  in 
some  surprise  to  know  what  was  wanted, 
Posey  felt  sorry  and  puzzled  to  see  that  her 
new  friend's  eyes  were  filled  with  tears. 

As  Miss  Winstanley,  finally  relieved  from 
the  apprehension  of  having  to  spend  the  night 
in  a  cuirass  of  white  voile  with  many  little 
pipings  of  satin  and  a  good  deal  of  scratchy 
net,  crept  in  like  a  thief  at  her  own  cabin- 
door,  her  room-mate  roused  up  and  groaned 
dismally. 

"  Seems  to  me  I'm  to  have  not  a  wink  of 
sleep  to-night.  Just  as  I'd  settled  down  for 
my  first  nap,  there  came  a  stupid  steward 
with  a  note  for  you.  I  told  him  to  put  it  in 


124  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

your  berth  and  go  out  as  quick  as  he  could, 
and  since  then  I  haven't  closed  my  eyes." 

"  Thank  you.  I'm  sorry  you  are  not  rest- 
ing well,"  said  Posey,  still  under  the  influ- 
ence of  her  recent  gentle  mood.  "  Is  it  any- 
thing you've  eaten,  do  you  think?  ' 

"  Eaten?  I  never  eat  at  sea,"  sniffed  the 
sufferer.  "  It's  my  nerves,  as  usual,  and 
since  you've  roused  me  up  completely,  I'll 
thank  you  to  mix  me  another  trional  powder, 
and  not  to  turn  up  the  light.  While  you're 
about  it,  you  may's  well  step  outside  and  get 
my  rug  off  the  rail,  and  put  it  over  my  poor 
feet.  Blocks  of  ice  they  are,  cold  feet  are  con- 
stitutional in  our  family.  Humph!  Single 
fold,  not  double,  I  don't  want  to  smother.  I 
should  think  your  father 'd  know  better  than  to 
let  a  girl  like  you  go  traipsing  around  a  ship 
alone  at  this  hour  of  the  night.  Perhaps,  if 
you'd  heard  what  I  did,  since  I've  been  lying 
here  trying  to  count  sheep  and  say  the  ten 
table,  you'd  haul  in  your  horns  a  bit,  and  not 
think  yourself  such  a  museum  wonder.  The 
people  in  the  next  room  were  talking  about 
you,  and  I  heard  the  man  say  as  plain  as 
anything:  *  If  I  wanted  my  daughter  to  keep 
her  good  name,  I  'd  not  let  her  go  out  on  deck 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  125 

at  night  with  that  gay  old  bird,  Tom  Vere- 
ker. '  And  the  woman  answered :  '  Some  peo- 
ple 's  heads  are  so  turned  with  vanity  and  fine 
company,  they  don't  take  ordinary  care.  It's 
the  talk  of  all  the  decks  how  she's  laying  her- 
self out  to  catch  that  disreputable  lord,  and 
he  and  his  French  friend  calling  her  "  dead 
easy  sport,"  in  the  smoking-room.' 

"  Did  any  one  say  that  such  words  had 
been  actually  used  about  me  by  either  of  those 
gentlemen  ?  '  asked  Posey,  stopping  short, 
her  eyes  blazing  in  the  dark. 

"  How  do  I  know  all  that's  said,  lying  here 
a  wretched  victim  of  nerves,  and  nobody  car- 
ing if  I  live  or  die  ?  ' 

"  I  ask  you,  only,  was  it  stated  that  either 
of  those  gentlemen  said  anything  approach- 
ing to  those  words  of  me?  ' 

"  For  goodness'  sake,  speak  lower,  Miss 
Winstanley,  you'll  be  overheard.  Some  peo- 
ple have  no  consideration  for  others,  espe- 
cially girls  at  night,  when  people  are  trying 
to  fall  asleep.  If  there's  a  race  I  consider 
utterly  heartless,  it  is  girls." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  let  you  sleep  or  rest," 
went  on  the  avenger,  calmly  taking  off  her 


126  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

hat,  "  till  you  answer  my  question  in  plain 
words — yes  or  no." 

"  N-o-o.  I  don't  know  that  it  was  actually 
said,  but  the  lady  inferred  that  Lord  Clan- 
donald  and  his  friend  couldn't  think  any- 
thing else,  if  you  continued  to  give  yourself 
away,  as  you've  been  doing." 

"Very  well!  I  understand.  And,  since 
we  are  due  at  Queenstown  day  after  to-mor- 
row, I  shall  ask  you  to  oblige  me  by  not  ad- 
dressing to  ine  a  syllable,  good,  bad  or  indif- 
ferent, so  long  as  I  have  the  misfortune  to 
remain  your  room-mate.  If  we  collide  with 
something,  and  go  down,  don't  even  inquire 
of  me  where  the  life-preservers  are.  And 
now,  since  I  want  to  read  my  note,  I  mean  to 
turn  on  the  electricity  and  do  so  comfortably, 
and  you  may  wake  or  sleep,  or  go  on  invent- 
ing spiteful  fables,  whichever  you  prefer. 
From  this  moment,  I  am  done  with  you." 

Certainly,  Posey  knew  how  to  take  care  of 
herself.  But  there  was  always  a  swift  follow- 
ing of  regret  and  penitence  when  she  had  let 
her  clever  tongue  loose  upon  an  opponent, 
and  while  the  subdued  spinster  sobbed  under 
her  bedclothes,  the  girl  rather  miserably 
opened  one  of  the  ship's  envelopes,  to  find, 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  127 

written  upon  a  slip  of  paper,  in  an  angular 
and  illegible,  but  educated,  woman's  hand  these 
words : 

"  Wlien  next  you  invite  a  certain  friend  of 
yours  to  supply  you  with  frocks  and  hats,  take 
care  that  it  is  not  within  hearing  of  one  who 

is  well  acquainted  with  Lord  C 's  limited 

generosity  to  the  reigning  fancy  of  the  hour. 
Better  fix  your  hopes  upon  the  older  and 
more  solvent  of  your  swains.  It  will  pay 
well,  and  be  a  less  dangerous  game  for  you." 

As  the  insult  burned  upon  the  girl's  under- 
standing, it  seemed  to  her  that  the  world  must 
stop  revolving  then  and  there.  It  was  her 
first  experience  of  the  poison  of  anonymous 
correspondence,  that,  in  an  instant,  ran 
through  her  veins,  paralyzing  her  with  shame 
and  hum  illation.  How  could  she  face  day- 
light and  the  society  of  honest  folk,  with  a 
stain  of  such  suspicion  upon  her  ?  What  had 
she  brought  upon  her  honored  father,  upon 
her  trustful  lover,  by  exposing  herself  to  such 
an  imputation?  Would  Helen  Carstairs  ever 
speak  to  her  again,  if  she  knew  what  had  been 
thought  and  said  of  Posey  Winstanley  ? 

She  turned  out  the  light,  and  cast  herself 
upon  her  berth.  Now,  over  the  tumult  of  her 


128  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

self-flagellations,  arose  the  actual  sound  of  a 
mighty  wind  arising  to  bear  down  upon  the 
ship.  It  had  come  up  suddenly,  their  room 
was  upon  the  weather-side,  and,  in  her  al- 
ready nervous  state,  the  sounds  seemed  the 
shrieking  of  all  the  demons  chained  in  hell. 
While  the  spinster,  now  avenged,  snored 
peacefully  through  the  tumult  of  elements  out- 
side, Posey  lay  wide-eyed,  trembling,  imagin- 
ing all  horrors  of  the  sea,  and  praying  for  the 
comfort  of  Mrs.  Gasher's  friendly  voice. 

"  If  we  are  to  be  lost,"  passed  through  her 
mind,  despairingly,  "  everything  will  be  for- 
gotten that  has  been  said  of  me,  and  it  is  bet- 
ter so."  She  longed  to  go  to  her  father,  but 
dared  not,  considering  his  distance  from  her, 
and  the  unpleasant  fact  that  he  shared  a  state- 
room with  two  other  men.  The  silence  of  the 
ship  seemed  as  unnatural  as  the  failure  of 
increase  in  its  motion.  The  curtain  drawn 
over  their  doorway  swayed  ever  so  slightly 
back  and  forth,  there  was  no  creaking  of  tim- 
bers or  crash  of  crockery,  or  rolling  of  small 
objects  upon  the  floor.  A  glass  of  water  left 
on  the  washhand-stand  was  not  disturbed  in  its 
equilibrium.  Surely  this  was  strange,  weird, 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  129 

unnatural,  with  such  a  tempest  raging  on  the 
sea! 

Now  Posey  decided  that,  on  the  whole,  she 
did  not  wish  to  die.  Driven  by  panic,  she 
arose,  still  dressed  as  she  had  been  for  the 
supper,  and  stole  out  down  the  long,  empty 
passage-ways  upon  a  tour  of  investigation, 
to  encounter  no  living  soul  save  a  sleepy 
night-steward  standing  under  a  light,  to  con 
an  ancient  newspaper. 

The  man  looked  up  sleepily  as  the  un- 
wonted apparition  drew  near  him.  He  recog- 
nized the  beauty,  and  from  her  pallor  and 
agitation  decided  she  must  be  ill. 

"  Anything  I  can  do  for  you,  miss?  "  he 
asked  politely. 

"  Oh!  no.  Nothing  whatever,"  answered 
Posey  hurriedly.  "  I  was  only  not  sleeping 
well,  and  feeling  a  little  nervous  in  the 
storm." 

"  Storm,  miss?  "  queried  the  steward  ab- 
stractedly, swallowing  a  yawn. 

"  Yes,  a  fearful  one.  On  our  side,  it  blows 
like  mad.  Surely  you  must  hear  it?  ' 

With  the  ghost  of  a  smile  hovering  upon  his 
face,  the  man  walked  over  and  gave  a  look  out 
into  the  night. 


130  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

"  It  might  be  half  a  gale,"  he  said  dubi- 
ously. "  But  you  see,  miss,  in  these  ships  we 
sort  o'  get  out  o'  the  way  of  knowing  what  is 
going  on  outside!  ' 

Half  a  gale!  Posey's  inclination  to  resent 
the  belittling  statement  went  back  to  bed  with 
her,  but  presently  her  sense  of  humor  got  the 
better  of  the  other  poignant  emotions,  and  she 
laughed  at  her  own  alarms,  of  which  the  in- 
terruption had,  on  the  whole,  proved  a  whole- 
some one ;  and  at  last,  completely  wearied  out, 
fell  into  deep  sleep,  amid  the  continued  howl- 
ing of  the  harmless  wind. 

The  gay  voyage  that  had  begun  so  buoy- 
antly passed,  at  the  finish,  beneath  the  shadow 
of  a  cloud.  The  first  sight  of  land  gave  but  a 
sorry  welcome  to  the  new-comers,  as  it  im- 
mediately disappeared  under  a  dense  curtain 
of  fog.  The  ship  crept  up  the  Irish  coast  to 
the  melancholy  tooting  of  the  siren,  answered 
by  other  craft,  from  ocean  liners  to  humble 
trawlers,  made  Queenstown  toward  morning 
in  an  interval  of  clear  weather,  and,  relapsing 
into  the  embrace  of  fog,  came  next  evening 
finally  to  anchor  for  the  night  at  some  dis- 
tance from  Liverpool  to  await  a  safer  oppor- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  131 

tunity  of  docking  the  monster,  and  letting  her 
passengers  ashore.  During  the  dolorous 
hours  preceding  their  final  parting  the  dis- 
appointed passengers,  before  so  friendly, 
smiling,  intimate,  seemed  to  draw  away  from 
each  other,  darkling  and  afraid.  Smiles, 
jokes,  good  stories,  civil  speeches  and  compli- 
ments had  been  apparently  packed  up  with 
sea  rugs  and  steamer  chairs.  The  decks,  drip- 
ping and  cheerless,  offered  no  attraction  to 
promenaders,  the  library  was  filled  to  op- 
pression with  forms  bending  listlessly  over 
books  that  could  not  hold  attention.  Every 
desk  held  diligent  scribblers,  glaring  suspi- 
ciously at  each  other  through  the  top  of  the 
separating  screen,  their  places  awaited  by 
more  would-be  correspondents  impatient  of 
delay.  In  the  companion-ways,  subdued  peo- 
ple huddled  together  or  walked  over  the  un- 
fortunate beings  with  buckets  whose  duty  it 
is  to  swab  the  sticky  linoleum  underfoot.  A 
reminiscent  odor  of  their  last  sea-dinner  arose 
to  mingle  with  suggestions,  coming  none 
knew  whence,  of  bilge,  fresh  paint,  tarpaulin 
and  wet  ropes.  The  only  thoroughly  lively 
mortals  to  be  seen  were  the  stewards  bustling 
everywhere ;  the  tidy  stewardesses,  with  their 


132  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

cap-streamers  flying;  and  the  ladies'  maids 
and  valets  who  hoped  to  get  their  charges 
early  to  bed,  thus  advancing  their  own  time  of 
freedom  and  farewell. 

At  a  comparatively  early  hour,  the  usual 
spaces  where  passengers  assemble  were  de- 
serted, most  people  giving  up  the  pretence  of 
being  exhilarated  by  near  approach  to  the 
British  Isles.  The  dining-saloon  displayed 
still  a  few  groups  sitting  around  the  tables 
sipping  from  glasses,  reading  or  talking;  the 
smoking-room  alone  retained  its  usual  fea- 
tures of  cards  and  conviviality. 

Here,  toward  ten  o'clock,  Clandonald,  look- 
ing more  than  commonly  bored,  arose  from  a 
game  in  which  he  had  not  acquitted  himself 
with  brilliancy,  and  strolled  outside,  alone. 

Since  the  night  of  the  supper,  he  had  not 
been  called  upon  to  put  into  effect  his  stern 
resolution  of  eschewing  Miss  Winstanley's  so- 
ciety. She  had  come  to  her  meals  late,  or 
early,  contriving  to  avoid  more  than  a  pass- 
ing contact  with  her  acquaintances  at  table. 
While  the  rest  of  them,  notably  Bobby  Vane, 
deplored  this  circumstance,  attributing  it  to 
a  caprice  or  an  indisposition;  while  Miss 
Bleecker  secretly  chuckled  with  delight  that 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  133 

the  enemy  had  so  soon  struck  her  colors,  and 
Helen  wondered  in  silence  why  there  was  no 
following  up  on  Posey's  part  of  the  promis- 
ing beginning  of  a  friendship  between  them; 
while  even  the  astute  Mariol  was  nonplussed 
at  the  young  girl's  sudden  drop  in  spirit  and 
voluntary  abdication  of  her  past  as  reigning 
sovereign,  Clandonald  felt  himself  a  prey  to 
more  acute  and  genuine  feeling  concerning 
her  than  he  had  ever  dreamed  of  experiencing. 
So  far  from  going  ashore  at  Queenstown,  it 
was  now  his  ardent  wish  to  stay  on  the  ship  till 
he  saw  the  last  of  Miss  Winstanley  at  Liver- 
pool; since  Mr.  Winstanley  had  announced 
that  instead  of  running  up  to  town  on  the 
special  steamer  train  with  their  friends,  his 
daughter  had  taken  a  fancy  to  see  Wales,  and 
they  would  accordingly  stop  over  at  Chester. 

Up  to  the  moment,  perhaps,  when  Clandon- 
ald had  interposed  himself  between  Posey  and 
her  annoyer,  it  had  not  occurred  to  him  that 
he  could  feel  for  her  anything  more  than 
man's  honest  delight  in  youth  and  extraor- 
dinary beauty,  as  well  as  the  titillation  that 
came  to  his  mental  part  from  her  amusing  in- 
difference to  his  rank,  her  straightforward 
appeal  to  his  comradeship.  Even  the  fleeting 


134  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

revelation  in  her  gaze  that  had  occasioned  his 
resolve  to  fly,  had  excited  until  then  in  him 
little  more  than  regret  at  the  misadventure. 

When  he  had  brusquely  stood  himself  in 
Vereker's  way,  Helen  Carstairs  had  not  ob- 
served what  caused  a  current  of  pleasure  to 
run  through  his  veins,  and  a  quick  rush  of  pro- 
tective tenderness  toward  Posey  to  fill  and 
overflow  his  heart.  Involuntarily  the  girl  had 
pressed  nearer  to  him,  slipping  her  arm 
through  his,  and,  for  the  few  seconds  that  this 
attitude  endured,  he  had  wanted  never  to  part 
with  her  again ! 

Then  she  had  started  away  from  him,  al- 
most guiltily,  and  Miss  Carstairs  had  carried 
her  off  in  tears !  From  thenceforward  a  blank, 
as  far  as  a  return  to  their  old  relations  went ! 
Clandonald,  puzzling  himself  wofully  to 
know  what  he  had  done  to  alienate  her,  had 
spent  hours  in  meditation  upon  the  theme. 
Now  that  he  had  lost  her,  the  possession  of 
her  guileless  friendship,  still  more  of  her 
possible  love,  had  become  of  supreme  value 
and  importance;  to  win  it  he  was  ready  to 
forfeit  anything,  even  to  throwing  over  his 
excellent  and  devoted  Mariol,  whose  keen 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  135 

glances  worried  him,  and  whose  wit  and  wis- 
dom had  temporarily  lost  their  flavor. 

And  so  the  last  hour  of  the  last  evening  had 
come  around,  and  his  last  chance  to  speak 
with  her  had  gone!  He  knew  how  it  would 
be  on  the  morrow.  Nothing  less  conducive 
to  an  exposition  of  the  tender  passion  in  any 
of  its  phases  can  be  found  than  the  landing 
on  a  foggy  day  at  Liverpool,  with  its  crowds 
and  coal  smoke,  its  lowering  skies,  and  dingy 
surroundings,  its  hustling  porters  and  water- 
men, the  rush  and  rumble  of  a  great  indus- 
trial city  beginning  at  the  water's  edge,  after 
the  inspiring  solitudes  of  three  thousand 
miles  of  salt  water. 

He  would  see  her  only  amid  a  confusion  of 
sights  and  sounds  that  would  effectually  pre- 
vent any  but  the  most  banal  phrases  of  adieu. 
She  would  pass  away  from  him  and  become 
as  had  all  the  other  women  he  had  met,  like 
the  dissolving  foam  wreaths  in  their  track 
across  the  Atlantic.  He  was  annoyed  with 
himself  for  feeling  it  so  much.  The  thing 
was  out  of  all  reason.  Perhaps,  after  he  had 
speech  with  her  once  more,  he  might  better 
realize  what  an  ass  he  had  been  to  imagine 
she  cared  for  him.  Things,  in  short,  would 


136  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

adjust  themselves  on  a  common-sense  foot- 
ing. 

But  he  could  not  get  speech  with  her.  An 
overture  to  that  effect,  somewhat  clumsily 
conveyed  before  dinner-time,  had  been  re- 
jected by  Miss  Winstanley  in  such  terms 
that  Clandonald  felt  vexed  and  mortified, 
wondering  what  or  who  could  have  set  her 
so  against  him. 

And  here,  at  last,  when  he  stepped  out  on 
deck,  into  the  glare  of  the  electric  lights,  in- 
tending to  return  to  his  own  room  and  pro- 
saically go  to  bed,  the  Fates  would  have  it 
that  he  ran  upon  Mr.  Winstanley  shivering 
like  a  true  Southron  in  the  raw  atmosphere 
around  the  ship's  anchorage,  his  daughter 
clinging  to  his  arm,  looking  most  lovely  in 
her  furs,  her  cheeks  of  a  vivid  carmine,  the 
little  locks  on  her  forehead  drifting  and  curv- 
ing in  the  moist  air. 

"  Pretty  dismal  lookout,  isn't  it?  "  said  the 
old  gentleman  cheerily.  "  Kind  o'  evenin' 
that  makes  one  think  o'  a  tumbler  full  of  hot 
Scotch,  and  a  big  snappin'  wood-fire,  with  a 
couple  o'  little  darkies  tumblin'  over  each 
other  to  bring  in  the  fat  pine  knots." 

"  If  I  could  fly  with  the  crow  over  in  that 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  137 

direction/'  said  Clandonald,  pointing  toward 
the  invisible  shore,  "  I  know  of  a  hearthside 
not  far  off,  where  at  least  part  of  those  con- 
ditions would  be  fulfilled  to  me!  It  is  in  the 
house  of  an  uncle  of  mine,  where  as  a  boy  I 
considered  it  Paradise  to  go,  and  still  do, 
sometimes  for  the  shooting.  One  of  those 
homes  of  merry  England  (a  misnomer  now, 
I  grant  you)  that  you  have  expressed  so  kind 
a  desire  to  see,  Miss  Winstanley.  I  sincerely 
hope,  by  the  way,  that  you  haven't  forgotten 
your  promise  to  persuade  Mr.  Winstanley  to 
give  me  a  day  at  Beaumanoir,  and  that  you'll 
settle  upon  a  date  with  Miss  Carstairs — who 
has  also  agreed  to  honor  me — before  we  leave 
the  ship." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  but  our  plans  are  un- 
decided," said  the  girl,  in  a  low,  tremulous 
tone. 

"  Seems  as  if  the  sea  hadn't  agreed  with 
daughter  this  little  bit,"  observed  Mr.  Win- 
stanley. "  She  sort  o'  thinks  she'll  stop  by  a 
few  days,  along  the  road,  before  we  get  to 
London.  So  this  is  a  British  fog?  A  No.  1, 
I  reckon.  I  hope  you  won't  think  me  impo- 
lite if  I  call  it  a  regular  searcher,  sir.  At 
this  moment  I  feel  it  in  the  marrow  o'  my 


138  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

bones.  But  anything  to  please  the  ladies,  and 
when  Posey  said  she'd  a  headache  that 
wouldn't  leave  her  till  she  got  a  turn  out- 
side, out  we  came  to  admire  your  English 
coast  scenery,  I  tell  her —  Great  Scott,  Posey, 
I've  gone  and  done  it,  now!  ' 

He  had  been  fumbling  in  his  breast  pocket 
for  a  handkerchief,  and  drew  forth  the  miss- 
ing article  with  a  vexed  look  upon  his  mild 
old  face. 

"  Done  what,  daddy?" 

"  Left  my  letter  of  credit  in  a  coat  in  the 
steamer-trunk  that  was  packed  for  storage 
in  Liverpool.  And  they've  likely  carried  it 
out  a 'ready!  I  must  find  that  steward  right 
away,  dearie,  and  tip  him  to  hunt  it  up." 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,  please." 

"  You'd  only  be  in  the  way.  If  you  want 
to  finish  our  walk,  stay  here,  and  I'll  come 
right  back  for  you.  Perhaps  Lord  Clandon- 
ald  wouldn't  mind 

"  Oh!  no,  father!    I '11  stay  alone." 

The  voice  was  decided,  even  positive.  Clan- 
donald,  bowing,  moved  away  in  another  direc- 
tion than  that  taken  by  Mr.  Winstanley. 

It  was  over.  He  had  done  with  iPosey  Win- 
stanley and  all  her  kind.  If  she  were  so  ca- 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  139 

pricious  as  her  actions  indicated,  this  decision 
was  a  thoroughly  good  thing. 

But  all  the  same,  like  Lot's  wife,  he  looked 
back.  Posey  had  taken  out  her  pocket  hand- 
kerchief, and  was  wiping  her  eyes  with  the 
little  wisp  half  the  ship  had  picked  up  after 
her.  Clandonald,  in  two  strides,  returned  to 
her  side. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  push  myself  into  your 
company.  Just  two  minutes,  and  I'll  be  off. 
But  I  think  you  owe  it  to  me  to  say  why  you 
are  treating  me  like  a  scoundrel  or  an  im- 
postor." 

11  Oh!  not  that,  not  that!  "  she  cried  pite- 
ously. 

"  Have  I  done  anything  to  forfeit  a  place 
among  your  decent  acquaintances  since  that 
time  you  clung  to  my  arm  and — I  mean  since 
you  let  me  feel  that  I  might  stand  between 
you  and  insult " 

"  Nothing.  I  believe  in  you  just  the  same, 
and  always  shall." 

"  Thank  you  for  so  much,  at  any  rate. 
But — you  believe  in  me,  in  spite  of  what  ?  ' 

"  Oh!  Lord  Clandonald,  how  can  I  say  it 
to  you?  "  she  exclaimed,  driven  to  the  wall. 

"  I  have  stood  a  good  deal  of  evil  speaking 


140  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

in  my  time,"  he  said,  in  a  grim  undertone. 
"  And  if  it  helps  to  clear  the  atmosphere  be- 
tween us,  I  can  stand  more." 

"  It  is  not  you  only,  I,  too,  have  been  the 
victim  of  cruel  and  slanderous  sayings.  I 
have  not  told  my  dear  father,  who  is  so  un- 
suspicious. I  wouldn't  have  him  suffer  as  I 
have  for  the  world.  For  the  last  twenty-four 
hours  I  have  been  receiving,  in  all  sorts  of 
odd  ways  that  I  cannot  trace,  anonymous 
notes  about  you  and  me  that  have  cut  me  to 
the  quick." 

"  Let  me  see  one  of  them,"  he  said,  grow- 
ing slightly  pale. 

"  Do  you  think  I'd  keep  the  horrid,  poi- 
sonous things'?  Not  a  half  hour  since  I  tore 
the  whole  batch  into  little  bits,  and  threw 
them  overboard.  Perhaps  ...  I  ought 
to  tell  you,  they  were  written  by  a  woman, 
who  says " 

"  Go  on,  Miss  Winstanley." 

"  — That  you  wronged  her  cruelly  and 
ruined  her  whole  life." 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  said,  between  his  teeth. 
His  face  had  grown  so  dark  and  bitter  that 
Posey  hardly  knew  the  man.  "  There  is  only 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  141 

one  who  could — but  how,  in  God's  name,  did 
she  get  aboard  this  ship  ?  ' 

"  I  suppose  the  writer  thought  I  would  not 
have  courage  to  tell  you — but  I  always  believe 
in  speaking  out,  you  know." 

"  It  may  be  some  low  practical  joke  at  our 
expense,"  he  suggested,  his  eyes  lightening. 

"  No,  even  I,  who  never  saw  an  anony- 
mous letter  before,  could  tell  that  this  is  hor- 
ridly real.  Whoever  it  is,  Lord  Clandonald, 
you — and  now  I — have  a  desperate  enemy. 
I  am  threatened  with  a  scene,  an  exposure, 
she  calls  it,  that  will  disgrace  me  utterly,  if  I 
am  seen  again  with  you." 

* '  Let  me  risk  it  for  you !  Let  me  stand  be- 
tween you  and  all  liars,  evil  speakers  and 
slanderers,  for  always — "  the  man  exclaimed 
passionately,  then  stopped  short. 

There  was  that  in  the  girl's  look  that 
startled  him  from,  his  unconsidered  speech. 
The  staring  white  light  of  the  electric  globe 
immediately  above  them  showed  the  bloom 
forsaking  her  young  face,  the  lips  trembling 
violently. 

"  It  proves  how  little  we  know  of  each 
other  that  I  should  let  you  say  such  words  to 
one  who  has  no  right  to  hear  them,"  she  said, 


142  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

recovering  herself  to  speak  in  her  natural 
tone.  "  But  if  we  mayn't  be  friends,  after 
this,  please  remember  that  I  have  believed 
you,  not  your  slanderer.  Now,  as  my  father 
doesn't  seem  to  be  coming  back,  and  this  is 
not  my  native  air,  if  it  is  yours,  I  will  say 
good-by.  We'll  be  too  busy  and  too  cross  to 
want  to  speak  to  each  other  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, even  if  it  were  wise.  If  you  meet  me 
again,  it  will  be  a  different  Pamela  Win- 
stanley,  one  who  knows  more,  perhaps,  and 
makes  fewer  mistakes,  but  who'll  never  for- 
get your  kindness  on  this  voyage." 

Clandonald  was  bewildered  at  her  rapid 
change  back  into  the  speech  of  convention- 
ality, her  self-control,  her  determination  to 
put  him  definitely  away  from  her.  His  brain 
was  also  dizzy  with  thoughts  of  the  dread 
presence  on  shipboard  of  the  one  woman  he 
had  hoped  never  to  see  on  earth  again.  What 
he  might,  could  or  would  have  answered  Miss 
Winstanley  was  not  said. 

They  stood  together  uncertainly  for  one 
confusing  moment  in  what  seemed  a  moist 
gray  world,  haunted  by  skulking  shadows  in 
tarpaulin,  the  chill  wind  of  the  Channel 
whipping  them,  overhead  the  repeated  rau- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  143 

cons  roar  of  the  fog-horn — and  then  she  was 
gone,  melted  away  into  encompassing  gloom! 
His  ship-idyl,  his  mad  brief  temptations  of 
a  few  moments  since,  were  past.  He  was 
back  again  in  England  with  his  bitter  memo- 
ries and  cheerless  future. 

To  Mariol  he  gave,  before  bed-time,  an  ac- 
count of  the  outrage  to  which  Miss  Winstan- 
ley  had  been  subjected,  begging  him  to  try  to 
trace  out  the  offender,  and  silence  her  at  any 
cost. 

The  Frenchman,  promising  to  do  this,  and 
relieved  at  the  collapse  of  his  friend's  nascent 
affair  with  Miss  Winstanley,  was  hardly  sur- 
prised, on  awaking  next  day,  and  finding 
their  ship  safely  alongside  her  dock  in  Liver- 
pool, to  be  told  that  his  lordship,  impatient 
of  delay,  had  gone  ashore  during  the  night  in 
the  tender  that  had  nosed  its  way  to  the  fog- 
bound liner  to  carry  off  the  mails,  leaving  his 
servant  to  follow  with  his  luggage. 

Mariol,  after  attending  unsuccessfully  to 
the  business  entrusted  to  him  by  Clandonald, 
encountered  Miss  Carstairs,  her  chaperon 
and  maid,  on  deck  awaiting  the  summons  to 
go  ashore.  He  stood  by  them,  commenting 
with  amusement  upon  the  sudden  disintegra- 


144  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

tion  of  the  ardent  intimacies  of  the  voyage. 
To  judge  from  appearances,  the  chief  aim  of 
the  passengers  was  now  to  rid  themselves  of 
one  another  as  promptly  as  possible.  People 
who  had  sworn  fidelity  over  night  were  offish, 
mysterious,  absorbed  in  petty  anxieties  about 
customs,  telegrams,  trains  and  tips.  As  usual 
to  inexperienced  tourists,  the  latter  question 
arose  to  be  a  cloud  that  was  ultimately  to 
overshadow  the  glories  of  European  travel. 
What  attendants  had  been  remunerated  ac- 
cording to  service  done,  what  countenances 
had  darkened,  who  had  seemed  satisfied,  was 
discussed  in  whispers  between  anxious  family 
groups.  Farewell  sentiments  bestowed  upon 
friends  one  thought  one  had  seen  the  last  of 
were  found  to  be  superfluous,  since  the  re- 
cipients were  sure  to  be  found  again  pro- 
vokingly  popping  up  everywhere;  on  the 
gangway,  on  the  docks,  and  facing  the  cus- 
toms officers.  Lucky  if  one  were  not  to  be 
thrust  together  with  them  into  the  same  rail- 
way carriage,  all  to  arrive  in  London  hating 
each  other  heartily ! 

M.  de  Mariol,  without  appearing  to  do  so, 
had  scanned  narrowly  the  outgoing  crowd 
from  the  steamer.  No  trace  had  appeared, 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  145 

here  or  elsewhere,  of  the  familiar  figure  of 
Clandonald's  former  wife.  A  suggestion 
occurring  to  him  that  the  excursive  Ruby 
had  been  last  heard  of  in  America,  and  was 
probably  returning  under  an  alias,  made  the 
search  in  the  passenger  lists  a  futile  one. 
Whatever  were  the  facts  in  the  history  of  this 
obnoxious  and  insufferable  woman,  he  must 
give  her  up  for  the  present  as  a  bad  job.  He 
felt  almost  inclined  to  believe  that  some  one 
else  had  thrown  suspicion  upon  her,  in  order 
to  cover  a  low  attack  upon  Miss  Winstanley 
and  Clandonald. 

As  he  and  Miss  Carstairs  started  a  little 
later  to  walk  together  up  the  inclined  plane 
leading  to  the  Euston  Special,  they  beheld,  in 
the  street,  Mr.  and  Miss  Winstanley  getting 
into  a  four-wheeler  laden  with  archaic  trunks, 
from  the  window  of  which  Posey  waved  to 
them  a  sober  last  good-by. 

At  the  same  moment  they  were  asked  to 
step  aside  to  give  place  to  an  invalid  chair 
containing  Mr.  Vereker,  greenish-gray  of 
complexion,  scowling  at  all  the  world,  and 
escorted  by  his  nurse  and  doctor.  No  vestige 
remained  of  the  effusive  host,  the  ladies'  gal- 
lant, the  purveyor  of  choicest  scandal  from 


146  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

the  clubs!  His  wife  and  valet,  with  Mr. 
Charley  Brownlow  and  a  train  of  servants 
and  porters,  brought  up  the  rear  of  the  cor- 
tege, pressing  importantly  forward  to  reach 
their  private  car. 

Miss  Bleecker,  whose  soul  always  melted 
tenderly  to  the  sorrows  of  the  rich,  could  not 
lose  this  opportunity.  Stepping  up  briskly, 
she  proffered  her  condolence  to  the  suffering 
magnate,  to  be  repelled  by  a  savage  gesture 
and  a  snarl  of  annoyance  at  being  spoken  to, 
that  caused  the  irate  lady  to  retire  in  crimson 
confusion. 

She  was  the  more  perturbed  by  the  inci- 
dent, because  not  only  did  her  dear  friend 
Mrs.  Vereker  decline  to  make  amends  for 
her  husband's  ill-manners,  but  she  mur- 
mured audibly  to  Mr.  Brownlow  that  "  Sally 
Bleecker  never  did  know  how  to  stay  in  the 
back  row."  Additionally,  the  chaperon's  dis- 
comfiture was  increased  by  the  appearance  of 
Lord  and  Lady  Channel  Fleet,  who  with  their 
depressed  maid  hugging  a  jewel-case  contain- 
ing the  well-known  turquoises,  were  hasten- 
ing away  to  the  joys  of  home  and  their  native 
land.  Lady  Channel  Fleet  enjoyed  the  little 
scene.  She  had  just  whispered  to  her  hus- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  147 

band  that  she'd  be  thankful  to  get  to  their 
own  house,  where  at  last  they  wouldn't  see 
Americans  or  hear  them  talk. 

The  next  acquaintance  to  pass  by  Mariol 
and  Miss  Carstairs  was  Prince  Zourikoff,  who, 
from  between  two  porters  carrying  some 
Aztec  images  he  had  secured  in  Mexico,  gave 
them  an  abstracted  nod  to  supplement  his  po- 
lite farewell  achieved  on  board.  Dear  old 
Graf  von  Bau  was  already  in  the  embraces 
of  his  loving  spouse  and  two  gigantic  daugh- 
ters, who  were  kissing  him  violently  upon 
both  cheeks,  and,  attended  by  a  secretary, 
governess  and  maid,  had  come  over  from 
Berlin  to  meet  and  reclaim  their  wanderer. 

"  Thus  vanish  Miss  Winstanley  and  her 
little  court!  "  said  Mariol  in  Miss  Carstairs' 
ear.  "It  is  true,  Bobby  Vane  clung  to  her 
till  forcibly  taken  possession  of  by  his  elder 
brother,  whom  the  Kenningtons  sent  down  to 
fetch  him  safely  home.  The  lad  was  suffi- 
ciently hard  hit,  and  if  the  young  lady  had 
been  ambitious  of  making  an  English  alliance 
of  rank,  she  might  have  secured  him — to  the 
disgust  of  the  Kenningtons,  of  course,  since 
Bobby  has  nothing,  and  the  Winstanleys  are 
evidently  in  modest  circumstances." 


148  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

"  I  believe  I  can  surprise  you  there,"  said 
Helen.  "As  we  are  all  scattering,  it  can 
make  no  difference  to  any  one — certainly  on 
this  side  the  globe,"  she  added,  with  a  faint 
sigh. 

"  I  like  an  apres  coup.  Please  tell  me," 
answered  he,  smiling. 

"  First,  tell  me  something.  If  you  like, 
that  is,  if  not,  let  it  go.  From  what  you  have 
observed,  does  it  strike  you  that  a  friend  of 
Miss  Winstanley's  would  be  justified  in  think- 
ing that  Lord  Clandonald  has  fallen  in  love 
with  her?  " 

"  Lord  Clandonald  left  the  ship  without 
making  any  arrangement  for  a  future  meet- 
ing with  the  young  lady,"  said  Mariol,  diplo- 
matically. "  And  to  my  best  knowledge,  there 
is  no  likelihood  of  his  seeing  her,  unless  by 
chance." 

Helen  drew  a  long  breath,  but  not  one  of 
relief. 

"  Because,"  she  went  on,  "  her  good  old 
father  came  yesterday  to  thank  me  for  some 
imagined  kindness  to  his  daughter,  and,  in  the 
course  of  conversation,  told  me  that  he  had 
recently  become  the  owner  of  a  large — very 
large — fortune,  but  in  his  desire  to  protect 


\ 

LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  149 

her  from  '  interested '  suitors,  had  deter- 
mined to  keep  the  knowledge  of  it  from  her. 
He  asked  my  advice  as  to  the  wisdom  of  the 
step,  poor  soul!  I  told  him  that  I  had  had 
some  experience  of  paternal  mismanagement 
in  this  regard,  in  the  case  of  a  friend  of  mine 
— and  that  I  thought  Posey  ought  certainly 
to  know." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  commented  Mariol, 
astonished,  and,  for  Clandonald's  sake,  just 
a  tiny  bit  depressed.  "  What  a  difference  it 
would  have  made  on  board,  had  it  been  sus- 
pected that  our  social  sovereign  was  possessed 
of  a  golden  foundation  for  her  throne.  And 
since  you  have  mentioned  my  friend  Clan- 
donald's fancy  for  the  young  lady -" 

11  It  was  rather  unfair  for  me  not  to  have 
told  you  at  once,"  interrupted  Miss  Carstairs, 


. . 


that  I  am  aware  of  reasons  why  such  a 
fancy  on  his  part  for  Mr.  Winstanley's  heir- 
ess, or  of  her  for  him,  would  have  produced 
disastrous  results  in  America." 

"  She  is,  then — "  began  Mariol,  trying  to 
keep  the  vexation  from  his  voice. 

"  Mr.  Winstanley  said  that  he  thought  it 
best  for  any  one  interested  in  his  daughter 
that  there  should  be  no  concealment  of  her 


150  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

engagement  to  marry  a  man  whom  she  has 
long  known — of  whom  he  thoroughly  ap- 
proves, and  that  his  daughter  was  willing  to 
have  it  known.  A  man  whom  such  a  mar- 
riage will  help  in  the  best  way,  since  when 
they  became  engaged,  he  knew  nothing  what- 
ever, nor  does  he  now,  of  her  improved  for- 
tunes." 

"  Lucky  fellow!  "  said  Mariol,  swallowing 
a  grimace.  "  But  I  must  own  to  you  that  the 
circumstance  robs  the  fair  Posey  of  a  good 
deal  of  her  interest  in  my  eyes.  You,  Miss 
Carstairs,  are  so  far  removed  from  their 
estate  of  happy  barbarism,  you  are  so  broad, 
so  far-seeing,  you  won't  object  to  my  sug- 
gesting that  the  image  of  Miss  Winstanley's 
mate  chosen  from  among  her  friends  of  early 
years  does  not  allure  me.  He  is,  in  fact,  a 
total  extinguisher  of  my  desire  to  meet  her 
after  she  shall  have  become  his  wife.  Now, 
own  that  you  yourself  have  a  shudder  of  mild 
distaste  when  you  think  of  what  he  must 
be!" 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Miss  Carstairs, 
distinctly,  "  I  have  the  pleasure  of  knowing 
Miss  Winstanley's  fiance;  and  I  consider 
him  not  only  one  of  the  most  manly  men,  but 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  151 

the  truest  gentleman  in  the  circle  of  my  ac- 
quaintance." 

"  Helen,  here  is  a  compartment  that  will 
just  hold  you  and  me  and  Eulalie,  comfort- 
ably, and  we  will  tip  the  guard  to  let  us  have 
it  to  ourselves,"  came  in  Miss  Bleecker's  pene- 
trating tones.  "  Good-by,  M.  de  Mariol,  we 
shall  always  remember  our  pleasant  voyage, 
and  I  shall  treasure  that  clever  thing  you 
wrote  in  my  birthday  book.  Sorry  not  to 
have  seen  Lord  Clandonald  to  say  good-by,  but 
we  shall  all  meet  again,  of  course,  people  al- 
ways do.  Don't  forget  if  you  are  in  town, 
any  time,  we  are  in  Curzon  Street  for  a  fort- 
night, and  then  Paris,  Hotel  Westminster. 
Eulalie,  you  have  Miss  Carstairs'  black 
jacket?  Porter,  look  out  for  those  umbrellas 
in  the  netting,  put  my  dressing  bag  beside  me, 
the  tea-basket  overhead — where  is  the  other 
rug  ?  Oh !  I  see.  Ten  pieces,  all  right,  porter, 
here  you  are,  for  you  and  your  mate.  What, 
not  enough?  Ample,  and  more  than  you  de- 
serve. Helen,  how  could  you  give  him  another 
shilling,  when  you  know  that  is  what  shows 
any  one  with  half  an  eye  you  are  just  from  the 
other  side?  " 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE  luncheon  at  Beaumanoir,  although 
lacking  the  young  lady  for  whose  delectation 
it  had  been  proposed,  came  off  to  the  satis- 
faction of  at  least  four  of  the  five  people 
present,  viz.,  Miss  Bleecker,  whom  it  had 
been  impossible  to  omit;  M.  de  Mariol,  who, 
cynicism  to  the  contrary,  was  delighted  with 
a  chance  of  showing  Helen  Carstairs  the 
noble  old  place  in  a  lambent  day  of  mid- 
October  ;  Helen,  herself,  frankly  pleased  with 
the  entertainment ;  and  good  old  Lady  Camps- 
town,  whose  mind  having  long  set  itself  upon 
the  thought  of  her  nephew's  remarriage  with 
a  wealthy  American  girl,  as  a  happy  issue 
out  of  all  his  difficulties,  chose  to  construe 
the  occasion  into  a  presentation  to  her  of  the 
future  chatelaine  whose  dollars  were  to  stop 
the  chinks  in  Clandonald's  ancestral  roofs, 
and  her  virtues  to  gild  anew  the  escutcheon 
dimmed  by  her  unworthy  predecessor. 

"  If  she's  an  American,  she'll  probably  go 
straight,"  thought  Lady  Campstown,  after 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  153 

i 

having  first  informed  herself  through  a  New 
York  lady  so  long  resident  in  London  as  to 
suffer  acute  pangs  upon  being  reminded  of 
the  place  of  her  nativity,  that  Helen's  father 
was  "  the  Mr.  Carstairs  whom  everybody 
had  heard  about."  When  Clandonald  had 
proposed  to  his  aunt  to  preside  over  his  little 
party,  her  ladyship  had  not  dared  ask  him 
the  direct  question  that  was  burning  upon  her 
lips.  She  had  contented  herself  with  his  an- 
swer to  her  rallying  query  whether  upon  his 
travels  he  had  met  any  of  those  wonderful 
girls  from  the  States  the  modern  novelists 
write  about,  that  he  fancied  the  supply  would 
always  be  equal  to  the  demand  for  that  com- 
modity. And  when  Miss  Carstairs,  so  quiet, 
lovely  and  distinguished  in  mien  and  man- 
ner, appeared  amid  the  faded  chintz  of  the 
great  drawing-room  at  Beaumanoir,  admir- 
ing its  choice  contents  with  knowledge  and 
without  gush,  treating  Lady  Campstown  ex- 
actly as  she  ought  to  be  treated,  the  reality  of 
the  old  gentlewoman's  hopes  seemed  as  near 
as  it  was  grateful. 

Even  Miss  Bleecker  shone  in  a  reflected 
light,  and  Lady  Campstown  pronounced  her, 
afterwards,  a  most  agreeable,  chatty  person. 


154  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

As  she  conducted  both  visitors  through  the 
principal  rooms  of  her  childhood's  home,  her 
little  ladyship's  frail  face  and  figure  seemed 
to  have  stepped  down  for  the  occasion  from  a 
frame  of  which  the  gilding  had  worn  away. 
Helen  was  in  turn  charmed  by  her  simplicity 
and  frankness,  and  the  two  gravitated  to- 
gether naturally.  The  men  found  them  in  the 
picture  gallery,  where  Lady  Campstown  was 
destined  to  receive  her  first  disillusion,  in  the 
fact  that  her  nephew  in  asking  Miss  Car- 
stairs  if  she  were  ready  to  see  the  white  pea- 
cocks on  their  famous  strutting  ground,  in- 
vited M.  de  Mariol  to  come,  too! 

But  the  good  aunt  utilized  her  talk  alone 
with  Miss  Bleecker  to  speak  openly  about 
Lord  Clandonald's  excellences,  his  wrongs  at 
the  hands  of  Ruby  Darien,  his  desirable 
domestic  traits,  the  subjects,  in  fine,  rarely 
neglected  when  the  female  proprietor  or 
backer  of  a  man  in  the  marriage  market  sees 
her  chance.  Lady  Campstown  was  so  genu- 
inely unselfish  in  her  desire  to  build  up  again 
the  shattered  fabric  of  her  dear  Clan's  life, 
that  another  than  the  pachydermatous  Miss 
Bleecker  would  have  perceived  the  pathos  of 
the  situation,  and  condoned  the  openness  of 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  155 

the  attack.  Miss  Bleecker,  however,  was 
quite  on  her  guard.  She  did  not  consider 
Clandonald  anything  to  jump  at  in  the  way 
of  a  match  for  Helen.  She  was  certain  of 
Mr.  Carstairs '  disapproval ;  she  knew  that  he 
could  not  be  brought  to  supply  cash  for  the 
palpably  exigent  repairs  at  Beaumanoir,  and 
lastly,  and  more  to  the  point,  she  had  no  idea 
of  relinquishing  while  she  could  hold  it,  her 
comfortable  billet  as  Miss  Carstairs'  chaperon. 
But  she  was  aware  that  Lady  Campstown, 
while  possessing  but  a  small  and  meagre 
establishment  in  London,  had  a  pretty  villa 
at  Cannes,  where  she  was  a  personage  of  un- 
doubted influence  and  wide  acquaintance. 
And  as  Miss  Bleecker 's  doctor  had  advised  the 
air  of  that  favored  resort  for  her  relaxed 
throat,  and  Helen  did  not  care  where  they 
went,  Cannes  was  the  secret  object  of  the 
chaperon's  intended  movement  southward  at 
the  season's  height. 

Therefore,  the  conversation,  while  the  two 
elders  strolled  or  sat  under  immemorial  yews, 
and  enjoyed  grapes  and  peaches  plucked  in 
an  enchanting  old  walled  garden,  waxed  upon 
one  side,  more  gracious  and  evasive,  on  the 
other,  more  perplexed  and  yet  more  hopeful. 


156  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

From  all  she  could  gather,  Lady  Campstown 
was  convinced  that  Helen  had  been  sent  by 
Providence  for  Clan's  regeneration.  The 
hint  given  on  their  return  to  the  house,  that 
the  American  ladies  would  be  in  Cannes 
after  Christmas,  to  remain  there  until  joined 
probably  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carstairs  in  the 
well-known  yacht,  "  Sans  Peur,"  seemed  to 
fit  into  her  plans.  A  further  suggestion  from 
the  dowager,  that  Miss  Bleecker  and  her 
charge  would  allow  Lady  Campstown  to  have 
the  pleasure  of  introducing  them  to  some 
people  and  places  in  the  south,  came  so 
quickly,  and  was  accepted  so  suavely,  that 
the  stately  little  lady  was  herself  a  little 
startled  and  taken  aback  by  it. 

At  this  moment  Clandonald  and  his  other 
guests  stepped  in  through  a  window  opening 
upon  a  stone-paved  court  with  fountains  and 
statues  and  ancient  trees,  enclosed  in  walls 
of  ivy  and  maiden-hair  fern,  reproducing 
prettily  one  of  those  haunts  of  Pan  at  Villa 
d'Este  in  Tivoli,  adored  by  a  former  owner. 
Helen  had  been  sitting  upon  a  lichen-grown 
stone  bench,  too  lapped  in  pure  pleasure  to 
want  to  move.  A  stable-clock  striking  some- 
where back  of  shrubberies,  had  warned  her 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  157 

that  it  was  time  for  them  to  be  thinking  of 
their  train  up  to  town;  and  she  rose  regret- 
fully. 

"  It  has  been  a  day  to  string  upon  Time's 
rosary,"  she  said  to  her  host,  to  whom  she 
yielded  the  greater  credit  for  his  hospitality, 
because  she  saw  that  he  had  been  worried  and 
abstracted,  and  that  it  was  Mariol's  continued 
sparkle  of  wit  and  bonhomie  that  had  really 
lent  the  occasion  its  subtle  charm. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  have  been  will- 
ing to  give  me  so  much  of  your  valuable  time/' 
he  answered,  with  an  effort  to  throw  off  what 
was  possessing  him,  "  and  it  has  been  a  pleas- 
ant second  chapter  of  our  voyage." 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you  and  M.  de  Mariol  be- 
fore we  separate,"  went  on  Miss  Carstairs, 
who  had  all  day  been  trying  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  bring  this  in,  and  failed,  simple  as 
the  matter  seemed,  "  that  I  had,  this  morning 
only,  a  letter  from  Miss  Winstanley.  They  de- 
cided, you  know,  to  put  off  their  visit  to  Lon- 
don till  some  later  date,  and  have  been  wan- 
dering through  the  apple  country  of  South 
Devon,  to  see  the  orchards  and  the  cider- 
making.  Some  book  Mr.  Winstanley  read  had 
tempted  him.  They  were  to  stop  at  Torquay, 


158  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

thence  going  to  Dover  and  the  Continent." 

"  Very  nice — and  very  American,"  said 
Clandonald.  "  Fancy  running  after  an  apple- 
crop  the  moment  one  lands  in  Britain,  because 
some  man  has  put  it  into  a  novel!  I  hope 
Miss  Winstanley  has  recovered  from  her  in- 
disposition? ' 

"  She  seemed  to  be  well  and  happy.  She 
asked  to  be  kindly  remembered  to  you  and 
M.  de  Mariol." 

Clandonald 's  courtesy  had  taken  wings, 
in  the  emotion  of  a  deeper  sort  that  over- 
came him  inconveniently.  He  had  hoped  to 
carry  off  easily  this  inevitable  talk  about  the 
girl  who  had  laid  so  strong  a  hold  upon  his 
broken  life.  But  he  said  nothing  at  all,  while 
Mariol,  as  usual,  came  to  the  rescue. 

"  I  have  been  telling  Clandonald  the  two 
interesting  facts  developed  by  you  concern- 
ing our  Alabama  friend,"  he  said,  gracefully. 
"  And  we  both  unite  in  asking  you  to  convey 
to  her  our  best  congratulations  upon  her  in- 
tended marriage." 

"  What  a  glorious  copper  beech!  '  ex- 
claimed Helen,  suddenly  looking  away  past  its 
owner  to  where  the  trees  arose  like  a  fire 
fountain  from  velvet  sward.  "  I  beg  your 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  159 

pardon.  I  will  give  her  the  message  when  I 
answer  her  characteristic  letter.  Perhaps  I 
ought  to  have  said  before  that,  in  a  postscript, 
she  asked  me  to  tell  you  both  of  her  engage- 
ment to  Mr.  Glynn,  should  I  not  have  already 
done  so." 

Lady  Campstown,  having  taken  cordial 
leave  of  her  nephew 's  guests,  whom  de  Mariol 
escorted  back  to  their  private  hotel  in  Curzon 
Street,  remained  over  with  Clandonald  at 
Beaumanoir  for  tea.  They  drank  it,  thanks 
to  a  perfectly  warm  and  well-aired  afternoon, 
under  the  beech  tree  extolled  by  Miss  Car- 
stairs.  Clandonald 's  dogs,  the  only  friends 
of  man  who  do  not  disappoint  or  change,  clus- 
tered around  his  knee,  a  homely  but  human 
Schipperke  gluing  her  faithful  head  upon 
her  master's  boot.  The  day,  the  hour,  the 
pleasant  rite,  the  dear  old  woman  whose  thin, 
pearl-white  fingers  twinkled  among  the  tea 
cups  as  she  looked  over  at  him  from  time  to 
time  in  a  sort  of  speechless  longing,  touched 
and  pleased  the  returned  traveller,  but  could 
not  cheer  his  melancholy. 

Finally  Lady  Campstown  took  heart  of 
grace  to  go  to  the  point  direct. 


160  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

"I'm  sorry  to  see  you  so  down,  Clan,  my 
dear  boy,"  she  said,  in  handing  him  his 
second  cup.  "  To-day,  of  all  days,  when  you 
have  had  such  a  charming  visitor.  I  can't 
tell  you  how  well  I  am  pleased  with  Miss 
Carstairs.  You  must  know." 

"  Delighted,  I'm  sure,  Aunt  Lucy,"  he 
answered,  with  refrigerating  vagueness. 
"  But  to  talk  of  less  agreeable  subjects,  I'm 
sorry  to  say  Ruby  has  broken  loose  again, 
and  is  annoying  me  horribly.  Having  failed 
recently  to  make  a  scene  for  me — and  an- 
other person — after  her  own  heart,  she  has 
taken  to  writing  me  infernal  hypocritical  let- 
ters, saying  she's  back  in  England,  stone- 
broke,  ill,  penitent,  Lord  knows  what,  and 
must  have  money." 

"  The  old  cry!  "  exclaimed  Lady  Camps- 
town  hotly.  "  Don't  answer  her,  Clan,  treat 
her  as  if  you  were  locked  in  behind  walls,  and 
she  in  the  street,  outside." 

"  Her  capacity  for  inventing  malice  and 
mischief  is  too  great.  She  will  find  some  way 
to  circumvent  me.  Her  price  of  peace  is  hard 
cash,  and  so  for  the  present,  I  can  breathe 
free  again." 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  161 

"  You  have  been  weak  enough "  began 

his  aunt,  despairingly. 

"  I  am  not  the  only  one  involved,"  he  said 
shortly.  "  Now,  Aunt  Lucy,  say  no  more  to 
me  about  it.  I  only  wished  to  put  you  on 
your  guard  against  any  assault  she  might 
make  upon  your  compassion." 

"  I  am  safe  from  that!  "  said  the  little  lady 
grimly,  and  indeed,  for  the  moment,  she 
looked  so,  in  her  splendid  wrath  and  scorn. 
Clandonald  did  not  pursue  the  subject,  and 
something  warned  her  that  neither  was  this 
the  time  for  pursuance  of  the  light  vision  of 
the  American  girl  whom  she  had  fondly  pic- 
tured taking  Ruby's  place  in  the  desolate  old 
house.  They  talked  of  family  matters,  of 
Clan's  travels,  of  things  present  and  to  come 
until  Lady  Campstown  and  her  maid  were 
obliged  to  leave.  When  her  nephew  had  put 
her  into  the  brougham  to  go  to  the  station, 
Lady  Campstown  rallied  her  courage  for  a 
final  appeal. 

"  You'll  drop  in  for  luncheon,  tea  or  din- 
ner whenever  you've  nothing  better,  won't 
you,  dear  boy?  "  she  asked,  surveying  him 
wistfully.  "  You  know  I  go  out  so  little  I'm 
apt  to  be  always  there.  I  'm  to  have  luncheon 


162  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

on  Tuesday,  and  go  to  some  pictures  with 
these  pleasant  friends  of  yours  who've  just 
left  us;  and,  Clan,  dear,  isn't  it  nice  that 
they're  coming  to  Cannes  this  winter?  Miss 
Carstairs'  father  is  to  be  there  in  the  yacht. 
He  must  be  a  very  interesting  man.  Such  a 
power,  one  can't  fail  to — oh!  thank  you,  Jen- 
kins "  (this  to  the  gardener,  arriving  with  a 
huge  nosegay  of  late  roses  and  chrysanthe- 
mums, and  a  basket  of  ruddy  peaches),  "  they 
are  most  lovely,  I  am  sure.  You  will  cer- 
tainly not  fail  to  make  me  that  promised 
visit  in  January?  It  seemed  so  lonely,  last 
year,  nobody  inhabiting  your  room.  Come, 
promise,  Clan,  and  I  know  you  will  never 
break  your  word!  ' 

"  I  am  afraid,  Aunt  Lucy,"  he  said,  giving 
her  a  final  loving  kiss,  "  that  I  had  better  not 
promise  anything,  just  now,  if  I'm  to  keep  up 
my  good  reputation  in  your  eyes.  Think  what 
you  like  as  to  my  being  spooney  about  a 
pretty  American.  But  it  is  arranged  be- 
tween Mariol  and  myself — though  we  can't 
agree  about  our  destination — that  we  are  to 
set  out  for  somewhere  early  next  week.  Ma- 
riol leans  toward  Tibet,  I  to  the  Balkans.  To 
decide  it,  we  shall  probably  toss  up  a  sover- 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  163 

eign.  But  this  much  is  certain — off:  we  go." 
It  was  not  until  December,  when  Lady 
Campstown  was  fairly  established  at  Villa 
Julia,  on  the  slope  of  the  Californie,  under 
house-walls  obscured  by  bourgainvilia  and 
arbutilon  and  Grloire  de  Dijon  roses,  that  she 
felt  in  the  least  assuaged  of  her  disappoint- 
ment. She  had  left  London  swathed  in  a  yel- 
low fog  of  appalling  density,  had  run  down 
to  Dover  in  an  atmosphere  of  pea-soup;  had 
found  Paris  under  weeping  skies;  had  trav- 
ersed France  in  a  murky  mist;  and  only  on 
waking  up  in  Cannes  next  morning  had  re- 
newed acquaintance  with  the  sun. 

As  she  looked  out  of  her  window,  the  olives 
and  palms  seemed  to  wave  a  welcome  to  the 
south.  The  sea  laughed  in  every  ripple  of  its 
wide  expanse,  the  mountains  slept  under  their 
veil  of  azure,  the  light  over  all  was  almost 
intolerably  bright.  The  flowers  that  she  so 
well  loved,  blooming  overhead  and  under- 
foot, springing  from  wall  crannies,  gladden- 
ing and  glorying  every  available  spot  of 
earth,  made  her  ladyship  feel  once  more  like 
her  own  even-tempered,  happy  self ! 

She  had  not  heard  from  the  wanderers  in 
the  Balkans,  but  had  felt  resigned  that  dear 


164  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

Clan  had  not  pushed  on  to  that  dreadful  far- 
away Tibet,  where  men  were  flayed  alive  if 
they  happened  not  to  please  the  rulers  upon 
whose  land  they  were  trespassing,  which  would 
have  been  so  much  worse!  She  and  her 
maid,  and  a  servant  or  two  brought  out  from 
England,  occupied  themselves  for  a  day  in  un- 
packing and  readjusting  ornaments,  putting 
flowers  and  plants  about  the  rooms,  and  look- 
ing over  the  garden,  a  lovely  tiny  place  where 
roses  ran  riot,  and  palm  trees  waved  their 
feathered  tops  or  clashed  together  their  spiked 
leaves  with  a  little  metallic  ring,  when  the 
breeze  stirred  them  from  their  majestic  calm. 
There  were  many  finer,  many  larger,  many 
more  cared-for  gardens  in  the  town,  though 
none  that  gave  more  satisfaction  to  its  owner. 
Lady  Campstown  knew  and  loved  every  inch 
of  it,  but  the  spot  most  often  resorted  to  by 
her,  in  hot  sunshine,  was  a  tunnel  cut  in  a 
thicket  of  bamboos  terminating  her  domain, 
from  which  a  gate  led  out  under  the  wall  of 
the  adjoining  lordly  pleasure  house  called 
"  Villa  Reine  des  Fees."  Above  this  wall 
arose  the  symmetrical  shafts  of  a  cypress 
avenue,  into  which,  and  far  beyond  it,  Lady 
Campstown  had  been  accustomed  to  pene- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  165 

trate  at  will,  through  a  little  green  door  hid- 
den by  verdure,  placed  there  for  the  conven- 
ience of  the  gardeners.  The  lodge-keeper 
of  this  deserted  dwelling,  to  whose  child  her 
ladyship  had  ministered  in  illness,  and  all 
the  other  employees  of  the  place,  had  always 
made  welcome  the  little  figure  in  black,  wear- 
ing a  mushroom  hat  and  carrying  a  long  tor- 
toise-shell stick,  who  from  time  to  time  ap- 
peared among  the  alleys  and  under  the  flow- 
ery pergolas  of  a  veritable  fairyland  of  trees 
and  turf  and  shrubs  and  blossoms. 

The  dwelling  at  Beine  des  Fees,  sheltered 
from  prevailing  winds  by  a  thick  olive  grove 
resting  like  a  gray  cloud  upon  the  hillside 
above  it,  was  of  considerable  size  and  preten- 
sion. Ascending,  by  a  long  flight  of  white 
marble  steps,  the  two  terraces  with  their  mo- 
saic pavements  and  marble  balustrades,  over 
which  orange  and  lemon  trees  hung  their 
fruit  and  flowers,  one  reached  an  imposing 
portal,  where  roses  climbed  upon  the  white 
fagade  of  the  many-windowed  house,  to  fall 
back  in  rivulets  of  bloom.  The  gardens  were 
a  marvel  of  skilfully  massed  semi-tropical 
shrubbery  and  trees,  shutting  out  the  view  of 
other  villas  and  revealing  at  happy  turns 


166  LATTER-DAT  SWEETHEARTS 

vistas  of  the  Mediterranean,  the  two  islands, 
and  the  blue  jagged  line  of  the  Esterels ;  while 
tall  box-hedges,  cypresses,  fountains  and  per- 
golas wedded  the  tender  grace  of  Italy  to  the 
warm  witchery  of  Provence. 

The  place  had  been  originally  constructed 
by  a  wealthy  Russian  as  a  bower  for  his 
young  wife  who  had  died  there  in  early  mar- 
ried life;  and  for  a  long  time  had  remained 
unoccupied,  although  scrupulously  kept  up. 

Upon  the  death  of  the  owner  it  had  passed 
to  his  younger  brother  who,  intending  to  live 
in  it  according  to  his  luxurious  tastes,  had  put 
in  "  lifts,"  baths,  and  sundry  up-to-date  con- 
veniences; had  renewed  the  furniture,  china 
and  glass,  prepared  the  stables  for  many 
horses,  and  then  vanished  from  sight  of  man 
into  a  house  he  had  in  the  Caucasus — melan- 
choly mad ! 

For  two  years  Villa  Reine  des  Fees  had 
now  been  in  the  market  for  a  tenant,  yet 
none  had  presented  himself.  Whether  or 
not  the  house  had  a  name  for  bringing  ill- 
luck  to  its  inhabitants,  or  that  the  price  fixed 
upon  it  was  prohibitively  high,  it  had  re- 
mained vacant,  as  before.  Lady  Campstown 
could  not  regret  this  circumstance. 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  167 

So  long  the  enchanted  ground  behind  the 
rose-wall  had  seemed  an  annex  to  her  own 
modest  property,  she  begrudged  the  idea  of 
its  overflowing  with  noisy  gay  people,  with 
their  dinners  and  dances,  their  motor  cars 
puffing  up  the  drive,  their  tennis  matches  and 
tea-parties,  piano-practising  and  perhaps 
spoiled  children  and  dogs,  to  invade  her  syl- 
van solitudes. 

The  one  fate  that  Lady  Campstown  kept  in 
reserve  as  the  most  painful  that  could  pos- 
sibly overtake  Villa  Reine  des  Fees,  was  for 
it  to  be  inhabited  by  Americans.  Now,  upon 
her  return  (although  recently  born  again,  as 
it  were,  to  a  new  sense  of  the  excellent  possi- 
bilities of  her  transatlantic  kinsfolk!)  she 
learned  with  dismay,  from  her  gardener,  that 
the  house  had  actually  been  leased  to  an 
American  family,  who  were  to  arrive  the 
following  day!  Details  of  the  calamity  she 
could  not  at  first  bring  herself  to  acquire.  It 
was  enough  that  her  worst  fears  for  her  cher- 
ished playground  were  about  to  be  realized. 
She  turned  pale  at  thought  of  the  changes 
sure  to  come. 

Directly  after  luncheon  Lady  Campstown 
took  down  her  mushroom  hat  and  an  Inver- 


168  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

ness  cape  that  her  maid  had  hung  on  a  peg 
in  the  entry,  armed  herself  with  her  tortoise- 
shell  stick — a  gift  from  Clandonald,  by  the 
way — and  trotted  down  the  walk  of  her  own 
garden  leading  out  under  the  bamboos  to  the 
little  green  door  in  her  neighbor's  wall.  This 
was  open,  and  she  went  in,  sadly  resolved  to 
make  a  final  pilgrimage  to  all  the  familiar 
spots  henceforward  to  be  blocked  from  her 
view  as  effectually  as  newspaper  paragraphs 
by  the  ink-marks  of  a  Russian  censor. 

The  day  was  glorious,  earth,  sea  and  sky 
lustrous  with  intense  sunshine,  the  air  filled 
with  odors  of  orange-blossom  and  violet,  jas- 
mine and  rose,  the  palms  bending  gently 
under  a  summer  breeze.  Never  had  the 
grounds  of  Villa  Reine  des  Fees  seemed  in 
more  perfect  order.  She  gave  one  glance  up 
at  the  gleaming  house-front  above  the  stately 
balustrades,  and  saw  that  its  windows  were 
open,  new  curtains  fluttering  in  the  breeze. 
In  the  loggia  adjoining  the  boudoir  of  the 
poor  little  dead  princess,  wicker  chairs,  gayly 
cushioned,  were  grouped  under  the  rose 
wreaths.  The  signs  of  coming  habitation 
were  too  evident. 

Lady   Campstown  would  not  look   again. 


She  saw  coming  toward  her,  beneath  the  arch  of  palms,  a 
very  tall  young  woman,  modishly  attired.     Page   169. 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  169 

Sorrowfully  she  directed  her  steps  along  the 
lower  terrace,  her  tortoise-shell  stick  tapping 
impatiently  upon  the  renaissance  birds  and 
beasts  of  its  pavement.  She  even  hoped  not 
to  meet  any  of  the  friendly  Provencals  who 
worked  upon  the  place,  with  whom  she  had 
been  wont  to  stop  and  talk  about  themselves 
and  families,  the  prospects  of  the  flower-crop 
for  neighboring  cultivators,  and  affairs  of 
the  town  in  general. 

At  some  distance  from  the  house  this  ter- 
race was  rounded  into  a  lookout,  command- 
ing a  wondrous  avenue  of  palms,  their  trunks 
enwrapped  in  roses  and  jasmine,  at  the  end 
of  which  the  hillside  fell  sharply  away,  re- 
vealing an  unimaginably  lovely  view  of  the 
sea  and  islands.  From  here,  as  the  visitor 
now  seated  herself  to  gaze  her  last  at  a  fa- 
vorite prospect,  she  saw  coming  toward  her, 
beneath  the  arch  of  palms,  between  bor- 
ders of  violets,  a  very  tall  young  woman, 
modishly  attired  in  white  embroidered  cloth, 
with  a  large  white-plumed  hat  that  breathed 
of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  in  Paris. 

Lady  Campstown  wished  that  she  could  be- 
lieve this  engaging  person  to  be  some  one 
who,  like  herself,  had  strayed  into  Villa 


170  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

Reine  des  Fees  through  curiosity — a  guest 
from  one  of  the  adjacent  smart  hotels. 

But  she  could  not.  She  knew  in  her  British 
soul  that  it  was  none  other  than  one  of  the 
temporary  owners  of  the  property,  and  that 
she  herself  stood  revealed  a  trespasser.  In 
her  intense  vexation,  the  dowager  arose  again, 
striking  her  stick  on  the  hot  marble  under- 
foot, till  two  little  green  lizards  scampered 
a^ay  in  fright  at  its  sharp  resonance. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said  in  her  well- 
bred  old  voice,  "  I  live  in  the  next  house,  and 
of  course  had  no  idea  that  the  villa  was  yet 
inhabited." 

"  Please  don't  speak  of  it,"  was  the  sur- 
prisingly friendly  answer.  (The  girl  was 
thinking,  "  Here,  surely,  is  the  Fairy  God- 
mother.") "  We  decided  at  the  last  minute 
to  come  a  day  earlier,  so  anxious  were  we  to 
get  out  of  gloomy,  wet  Paris.  You  see,  my 
father  has  been  very  ill,  and  the  doctors 
rather  wanted  to  hurry  him  to  Provence. 
We  took  the  night  train,  arriving  this  morn- 
ing, and  already  he  seems  to  feel  the  benefit, 
and  is  now  getting  a  good  sleep." 

As  she  spoke  she  came  up  upon  the  terrace, 
and  stood  by  Lady  Campstown's  side. 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  171 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  answered  the  old 
lady,  forgetting  her  resentment.  "  I  should 
explain  that  this  house  has  been  so  long  un- 
occupied, I  have  felt  at  liberty  to  stray  in 
from  time  to  time,  and  see  the  flowers  and 
so " 

"  Indeed,  you  are  not  to  say  another  word," 
said  the  hostess,  with  pretty  emphasis.  "  If 
you  had  the  least  idea  how  I  was  just  bursting 
to  let  out  of  me  some  of  my  delight !  ' 

"  '  Bursting  to  let  out  of  me  '!  "  Lady 
Campstown  was  certain  that  she  knew  no  one 
who  would  have  been  responsible  for  that  pe- 
culiar phrase,  but  the  joyous  appeal  of  the 
young  voice  and  eyes,  the  radiantly  smiling 
mouth,  were  not  to  be  resisted. 

"  You  feel  it,  then?  "  she  said,  smiling  in 
return. 

"  Down  to  the  ground!  "  said  the  tall  girl. 
"  I  don't  believe  I  ever  had  such  thrills  in  my 
life  before.  I've  been  walking  up  and  down 
under  these  oranges  and  lemons  and  palms, 
wondering  if  it  can  be  I?  To  think  we're  to 
have  this  little  heaven  all  to  ourselves  for 
daddy  to  get  well  in !  You  see,  there  are  only 
my  father  and  myself,  and  we  know  very  few 


172  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

people  over  here  in  Europe.    We  are  Ameri- 


cans/ 


"  I  believe  so,"  said  Lady  Campstown,  with 
restraint. 

"  The  villa  was  taken  for  us  through  our 
doctor  in  Paris,  who  had  seen  it,  and  told 
daddy.  I  thought  the  rooms  in  our  hotel  in 
Paris  too  lovely  for  anything,  but  this  goes 
a  long  way  ahead.  I've  got  that  splendid  big 
front  chamber  with  the  dressing-room  and 
bath,  and  the  sort  of  little  porch  covered  with 
vines,  where  the  servants  seem  to  expect  me  to 
have  my  breakfast  by  myself.  The  truth  is, 
I  don't  care  where  I  eat  these  old  continental 
breakfasts;  only  rolls  and  coffee,  and  per- 
haps one  miserable  little  egg,  and  that  extra, 
I'm  always  hungry  again  by  eleven.  Daddy's 
got  a  huge  room  opposite  mine,  all  carved  fur- 
niture with  a  bed  like  a  church  pew,  but  he 
likes  it,  and  the  man  nurse  that  takes  care  of 
him  says  he's  better  already  for  the  change. 
It's  ridiculous  for  only  us  two  to  try  to  fill 
this  regular  little  palace,  isn't  it?  If  I  were 
home,  I  could  ask  some  of  the  girls,  but,  over 
here,  I  don't  know  any  but  one,  and  we 
haven't  actually  got  a  chaperon  for  me  yet. 
We  talked  of  it,  you  know,  but  when  it  came 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  173 

to  the  point,  daddy  dreaded  her  being  perched 
up  between  us  like  Poe's  raven,  at  meals,  and 
everywhere,  and  so  we  put  it  off.  Perhaps,  if 
you  live  here  you  wouldn't  mind  giving  me  a 
word  of  advice  about  how  to  do  things. 
There's  a  housekeeper  that  goes  with  the 
house,  and  she  engaged  the  extra  servants, 
such  a  lot  I  never  saw!  I  came  out  into  the 
garden  to  get  rid  of  the  whole  kit  and  boodle 
of  them !  But  after  a  while  I'll  learn  my  way, 
and  then  not  feel  so  awkward  as  I  do  now. 
Maybe  you  are  thinking  it  strange  why  I 
don't  know  these  things,  but  I've  no  mother, 
and  no  near  relations  but  daddy,  and  till  now 
we've  lived  in  a  very  plain  way,  at  home." 

Lady  Campstown's  heart  melted  inconti- 
nently. The  rapidity  and  scope  of  the  girl's 
confidences  were  atoned  for  by  her  youth  and 
the  direct  gaze  of  her  childlike  eyes,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  beauty  that  had  been  sinking 
into  the  old  lady's  impressionable  senses. 
Also,  her  ladyship  was  always  genuinely  in- 
terested in  the  details  of  a  perilous  illness; 
and  those  of  the  invalid's  recent  grave  attack 
of  pneumonia  were  received  with  not  to  say 
satisfaction,  but  something  that  nearly  ap- 
proached it.  She  gave  the  girl  much  sound 


174  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

advice,  and  as  they  strayed  together  onward 
from  point  to  point  through  the  grounds, 
which  Lady  Campstown  knew  con  amore, 
she  found  herself  equipped  with  an  astonish- 
ing relish  for  the  situation  so  unexpectedly 
attained.  When  they  were  both  quite  out  of 
breath  with  talking  and  walking,  she  further- 
more accepted,  graciously,  an  invitation  to 
step  indoors  and  rest.  She  had  thought  her 
new  friend  a  tyro  in  social  arts,  but  when 
they  reached  the  top  of  the  long,  hot  gleam- 
ing flight  of  white  marble  stairs,  and  stood 
together  between  the  potted  bamboos  and 
pelargoniums  in  the  vestibule,  was  pleased  to 
have  her  step  back  with  charming  grace  and 
execute  a  little  curtsey,  saying: 

"  I  don't  think  you  can  know  that  my 
name  is  Pamela  Winstanley,  and  I'd  be  very 
glad  if  you  wouldn't  mind  telling  me  yours." 

It  is  not,  therefore,  to  be  numbered  among 
things  incredible  that  soon  after  four  o'clock 
that  afternoon,  when  the  sun  like  a  ball  of  fire 
had  dropped  behind  the  blue  barrier  of  the 
Esterels,  leaving  the  world  to  darkness  and  a 
sudden  glacial  chill,  Miss  Winstanley,  attended 
by  one  of  her  bran-new  footmen  carrying  a 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  175 

sheaf  of  rare  roses,  repaired,  in  her  turn, 
through  the  little  green  doorway  in  the  flowery 
wall  dividing  Villa  Reine  des  Fees  from  Villa 
Julia.  She  was  wrapped  in  a  smart  fur-lined 
cloak,  and  her  mission  was  to  take  tea  with 
Lady  Campstown! 

A  trim  maid  ushered  her  into  the  long,  low 
drawing-room  with  its  hangings  of  sunflower 
yellow,  its  mirrors  and  consoles  and  twin 
Empire  sofas,  its  square  of  dull  red  Turkey 
carpet  in  the  centre  of  a  slippery  waste  of 
parquetry,  its  brass-trimmed  tables  and  chairs, 
bought  with  the  house  and  never  altered. 
But  over  all  had  been  diffused  a  look  of 
home  that  Villa  Reine  des  Fees  could  not  at- 
tain. There  was  a  folding  screen  covered  with 
miniatures,  behind  the  couch  whereon  Lady 
Campstown  sat  crocheting  in  rosy  wool  one  of 
the  new  pelerines  neigeuses;  there  were  flow- 
ers and  books  and  a  wide  writing-table,  with 
silver  bound  blotting  book  and  silver  fittings. 
A  small  table,  covered  with  a  web  of  white 
linen  and  lace  that  a  Cardinal  might  have 
worn  upon  a  day  of  festa,  was  spread  for  the 
tea  to  be  brought  in  by  and  by;  and  Posey 
did  not  know  that,  to  fit  it  to  her  guest's  age 
and  supposed  tastes,  Lady  Campstown  had 


176  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

sent  a  special  messenger  to  the  rue  d'Antibes 
for  marrons  glaces  and  wondrous  crystallized 
fruits ! 

A  little  fire  of  gnarled  olive  roots,  pine 
cones,  and  eucalyptus  boughs  was  blazing  on 
the  hearth.  The  girl,  carrying  her  own  flow- 
ers now,  paused  on  the  threshold  with  an  ex- 
clamation of  delight. 

* '  Oh !  how  good,  how  sweet  of  you  to  let  me 
come!  "  she  cried,  "  and,  please,  would  you 
think  me  very  rude  if  I  sat  down  on  the  rug 
and  played  with  your  Orange  pussy?  ' 

The  tea  over,  the  new  friends  talked  with 
ever-increasing  cordiality.  Lady  Campstown 
soon  knew  all  there  was  to  know  of  the  girl's 
former  modest  position  in  life  and  her  recent 
information  by  her  father  that  she  was  ex- 
pected to  spend  his  large  income  as  she 
pleased. 

"  He  asked  me,  poor  dear,  not  to  hold  back 
for  anything  in  reason,  but  to  find  out  all  that 
we  ought  to  have,  and  order  it.  And  you'd 
better  believe,  Lady  Campstown,  that  an 
American  girl  knows  how  to  do  that  same! 
It  seems  he  had  a  talk  on  our  steamer,  just 
before  we  landed,  with  a  friend  both  he  and 


LATTEK-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  177 

I  trust  in,  and  she  told  him  it  was  his  duty  to 
live  up  to  his  fortune.  He's  known  he  had 
all  this  money  for  nearly  a  year  past,  but  had 
no  idea  how  to  begin  to  spend  it.  And  so  we 
branched  right  out  in  Paris,  and  got  a  suite  of 
rooms  that  a  royalty  had  before  us.  I  went 
straight  off  to  the  Only  Adorable  Worth,  and 
bought  everything  in  the  way  of  gowns.  I 
had  masters  in  French  and  singing,  and  when 
we  drove  in  the  Bois,  or  went  to  the  galleries 
and  shops,  and  everybody  stared,  I  took  to  it 
as  naturally  as  a  duck  to  water.  But  I  must 
say  it  was  lonesome.  I  longed  and  longed  for 
somebody  to  tell  how  I  felt  about  it  all  in  my 
inmost  heart.  .  .  .  Then,  my  darling  old 
daddy  fell  ill,  and  his  life  was  in  danger,  and 
all  the  grandeur  fell  flat  as  a  pancake.  I 
didn't  care  a  straw  for  my  clothes,  my  car- 
riage, my  fine  maid,  even  my  new  pearls — the 
whirling  wheel  of  life  stood  still,  still,  and  I 
heard  only  my  heart-beats!  I  thought  I  was 
going  to  lose  the  dearest,  tenderest  father  in 
the  world,  and  be  left  a  poor  wretched  orphan 
with  nothing  but  things  to  comfort  me !  ' 

She  had  sprung  up  from  the  rug  and  was  by 
this  time  seated  on  the  couch  beside  Lady 
Campstown,  and  that  lady's  kind  little  hand 


178  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

had  found  its  way  into  hers.  If  the  dowager 
felt,  at  moments,  a  little  dizzy  with  the  speed 
at  which  this  episode  of  new  acquaintance  had 
progressed,  she  had  only  to  look  across  the 
room  at  the  portrait  of  a  girl  who  would  have 
been  thirty  had  she  lived,  but  in  her  mother's 
eyes  seemed  forever  just  eighteen.  Maybe 
she  would  have  been  ungrateful,  unloving, 
mondaine  or  devote;  she  might  have  married 
ill,  or  died  in  bringing  a  child  into  the  world ; 
or  any  one  of  a  thousand  every-day  happen- 
ings might  have  robbed  the  mother  of  joy  in 
her  companionship.  But,  to  Lady  Campstown, 
her  lost  daughter  was  always  young,  prosper- 
ous, lovely,  beyond  reproach;  and  for  her 
sake,  Pamela  Winstanley,  with  all  her  imper- 
fections of  bringing-up  upon  her  golden  head, 
was  forgiven  much!  What  wonder  that  be- 
fore they  separated  Posey  had  received  assur- 
ance that  Lady  Campstown  would  look  after 
her  in  various  substantial  ways ;  and  that  Mr. 
Winstanley 's  new  motor  car,  ordered  from 
Paris,  being  yet  to  come,  the  girl  should  be 
invited  to  take  her  first  view  of  the  riant  lit- 
tle town  from  the  cushions  of  Lady  Camps- 
town's  well-known  old  landau,  with  the  quiet 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  179 

black  horses  and  sober  coachman?  When 
they  had  thus  agreed  to  go  shopping  together 
in  the  tempting,  if  narrow  and  sunless,  rue 
d'Antibes,  and  Posey,  for  the  second  time,  had 
arisen  to  take  her  leave,  her  eye  fell  upon  an 
imperial  photograph,  framed  in  silver,  of  a 
man  she  recognized  with  a  swift  leap  of  the 
heart. 

"  My  nephew  Clandonald,"  said  the  dow- 
ager, heaving  a  little  affectionate  sigh.  "  Al- 
most all  I  have  left  to  love.  He  is  a  dear  fel- 
low, and  has  been  much  sinned  against.  Just 
now  he  is  somewhere  in  the  Balkans  loafing, 
as  he  calls  it,  with  his  friend  M.  de  Mariol, 
but  I  trust  he  will  come  back  soon,  and  that 
certain  things  I  hope  for  him  will  become  re- 
alities. I  don't  mind  telling  you,  my  dear, 
that  there  is  a  young  lady  in  the  case,  and 
that  she's  a  countrywoman  of  your  own.  I 
have  met  her,  and  love  her  already  for  his 
sake,  but  there's  been  mischief  made,  and  it 
will  take  time  to  straighten  out  the  tangle  of 
my  poor  Clan's  heart  affairs,  and,  when  you 
and  I  know  each  other  better,  I  will  explain. 
In  the  meantime,  we  won't  talk  of  it.  You'll 
be  ready  at  half -past  ten  to-morrow,  when  I 


180  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

call  for  you?  I'll  take  you  around  to  the 
right  tradespeople,  and  afterwards  we'll  have 
a  little  turn  on  the  Croisette." 

"  An  American  girl!  "  Posey  said  within 
herself.  "  It  must  be  said  he  found  consola- 
tion very  soon."  She  was  conscious  of  feel- 
ing rather  blank. 


CHAPTER  VII 

in  doubt  where  to  go,  stay  in 
Paris,"  had  been  for  some  years  of  travel 
Miss  Bleecker's  favorite  saying.  Helen,  who 
had  no  great  love  for  the  place  from  her  chap- 
eron's point  of  view,  simply  acquiesced  when 
told  it  was  too  early  to  go  south.  She  begged 
Miss  Bleecker  to  go  on  with  her  own  routine. 
Mornings  in  the  shops  were  followed  by  lunch- 
eons with  old  friends  among  the  American 
residents,  where,  after  luxurious  eating  and 
drinking  of  light  wines,  the  women  sat  for 
hours  rooted  upon  down  couches,  propped  by 
silken  cushions,  exchanging  hearsays  of  stu- 
pendous gossip  about  their  common  acquaint- 
ances. Upon  Miss  Bleecker's  return  from  one 
of  these  intimate  entertainments,  Helen's 
views  of  human  nature  were  lowered  for  days 
to  come. 

In  the  afternoon,  Miss  Bleecker  generally 
drove  out  with  her  charge,  or  left  cards  upon 
people  who  would  have  resented  her  getting 
in  as  earnestly  as  she.  In  her  smart  wrap 


182  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

and  voluminous  furs,  with  her  plumed  hat 
and  dotted  veil,  the  chaperon  justly  flattered 
herself  that  some  of  the  glances  bestowed 
upon  their  victoria  in  the  Bois  and  along  the 
Champs  Elysees  were  a  late  plum  fallen  to 
her  share.  In  Central  Park,  at  home,  and  in 
Fifth  Avenue,  every  one  knew  it  was  only 
the  same  old  Sally  Bleecker  in  a  new  French 
hat.  Miss  Bleecker  had  heard  it  suggested 
that  one  must  come  abroad  to  find  a  proper 
deference  paid  to  years  of  maturity,  which 
secretly  was  not  what  she  desired.  Her  taste 
was  neither  for  the  cold-blooded  pushing  to 
the  wall  of  her  generation  by  young  Ameri- 
cans, nor  yet  the  reverent  hand-kissing  of  the 
ancient,  observable  in  high  life  abroad.  Since 
her  morals  were  above  reproach,  all  she  really 
asked  was  a  recognition  by  the  public  of  her 
successful  illustrations  of  the  methods  of 
Paquin  and  Alphonsine. 

There  were  always  teas  to  drop  in  for,  after 
the  drives,  at  the  cosmopolitan  resorts  of 
Ritz,  or  Columbin,  or  Rumpelmayer,  or  in 
private  dwellings.  In  Paris,  the  division  of 
time  between  five  and  seven  in  the  afternoon 
has  become  as  important  for  the  achievement 
of  social  idling  of  both  sexes  as  in  London. 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  183 

It  is  in  New  York  where  the  tea-drinking 
habit  is  a  graft  among  the  men,  and  to  the 
women  an  intermittent  sacrifice  to  fashion's 
shrine.  Miss  Bleecker  was  of  the  sort  whom 
the  steam  of  the  tea-kettle  inebriates  as  well 
as  cheers.  She  could  better  exist  without  her 
evening  orisons  than  her  cup  of  tea  between 
four  and  five. 

When  the  ladies  returned  to  their  hotel, 
there  was  barely  time  to  dress  for  dinner  or 
the  play.  Miss  Bleecker 's  dinner  list  in  Paris 
was  larger  than  in  New  York,  where  Sally 
Bleecker  was  beginning  to  be  vieux  jeu. 
Abroad,  she  was  welcomed  by  the  translated 
Americans  living  in  various  capitals,  who  were 
sure  of  hearing  from  her  the  few  things  about 
the  private  lives  of  their  friends  at  home  that 
had  not  got  into  their  newspapers.  Lastly, 
but  decidedly  not  least,  she  had  had  the  wisdom 
to  perfect  herself  in  bridge,  which  Helen  de- 
tested, in  common  with  all  games  of  cards. 
Whenever  Miss  Carstairs  elected  to  go  off 
with  friends  of  her  own  to  dine  and  pass  the 
evening,  and  her  young  lady  put  on  a  tea  gown 
and  ordered  a  plate  of  soup  and  a  wing  of 
chicken  in  their  own  salon,  the  chaperon  was 
in  glory.  In  a  black  net  dress,  largely  be- 


184  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

spangled,  with  a  dog-collar  of  excellently  im- 
itated pearls  around  the  doubtful  portion  of 
her  throat  beneath  the  chin,  with  her  hair  ad- 
mirably groomed  and  her  nails  perfectly 
manicured,  wearing  her  best  evening  manner 
and  longest  gloves,  old  Sally  would  run  down 
stairs  nimbly  to  the  fiacre  that  was  to  take 
her  to  her  earthly  Paradise  of  bridge!  Or 
else  in  company  with  a  playmate  of  seventy- 
two,  who  smoked  cigarettes  eternally,  wore 
low  scarlet  gowns  and  rarely  dined  at  home, 
she  would  go  on  from  place  to  place,  exhila- 
rated beyond  fatigue,  whispering  inwardly  to 
herself  there  was  nothing  like  this  at  her  home 
across  the  sea. 

Helen  would  have  been  wof  ully  tired  of  this 
life  had  she  not  possessed  the  resources  of  a 
rational  cultivated  woman,  and  the  ability  to 
extract  the  real  kernel  of  Parisian  life,  in  ad- 
dition to  the  acquaintance  of  a  few  clever 
people  with  whom  she  could  fraternize  in  her 
own  way.  After  all,  as  well  Paris  as  else- 
where for  the  living  down  of  a  great  clutch- 
ing emotion  such  as  her  brief  passion  for 
John  Glynn!  She  had  been  spared  hearing 
Posey  Winstanley  talk  about  him  as  her  pos- 
session, since  the  Winstanleys  had  quitted 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  185 

Paris  early  in  December,  just  before  their  own 
arrival  there.  She  had  heard  in  various  ways 
how  old  Herbert  had  taken  her  advice  liter- 
ally, and  enrolled  himself  among  the  money 
spenders  of  their  liberal  nation.  With  aston- 
ishing rapidity,  the  fame  of  the  stunning 
young  Southern  beauty  had  been  bruited 
abroad.  It  was  related  that  a  semi-royal  per- 
sonage who  had  seen  her  going  up  the  stair- 
case of  her  hotel  had  addressed  to  her  father 
a  proposal  for  her  hand,  which  had  been  re- 
fused by  the  wise  old  gentleman  without  con- 
veying the  fact  to  his  daughter.  It  was  known 
that  she  had  been  "  taken  up  "  by  the  best 
people  in  Cannes.  A  little  breeze  of  lauda- 
tion concerning  her  was  forever  blowing 
where  gossips  congregate  in  le  monde  ou  I' on 
s' amuse.  In  two  expressive  words,  Miss  Win- 
stanley  "  had  arrived!  ' 

Helen  used  to  wonder  most  how  this  reacted 
upon  John  Glynn.  She  pictured  his  amaze- 
ment at  finding  the  Cinderella  he  had  wooed 
had  turned  into  a  Princess  in  Glass  Slippers. 
But  as  that  is  the  sort  of  a  shock  to  which 
most  sensible  men  become  easily  habituated, 
she  felt  that  he  had,  by  now,  probably  ceased 
to  wonder  at  his  good  luck.  If  he  thought  at 


186  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

all  of  Helen,  it  would  be  with  gratitude  for 
having  set  him  free  for  this. 

She  was  not  so  certain  that  Posey  had 
reached  the  same  stage  of  satisfaction  with 
existing  bonds.  Helen  was  too  clever  at  read- 
ing character  not  to  have  seen  more  than 
Posey  meant  to  admit  about  her  feeling  for 
Clandonald.  She  saw  also  that  Clandonald 
was  immensely  taken  by  the  girl,  and  believed 
that  if  Glynn  were  not  in  existence  the  Eng- 
lishman would  some  day  return  to  the  charge. 
But  she  knew  nothing  of  the  anonymous  let- 
ters, and  their  vile  attacks  upon  Posey,  which, 
long  after  silence  had  set  in  in  the  direction 
of  the  enemy,  continued  to  burn  and  sting  in 
their  object's  clean,  sensitive  soul.  Since  she 
had  told  Clandonald,  Posey  had  spoken  of 
this  insult  to  no  one.  It  made  her  feel,  how- 
ever, that  she  could  never  be  quite  the  same 
again. 

Helen  had  exchanged  a  letter  or  two  with 
her,  but  the  acquaintance  had  seemed  to  drift. 
It  was  Miss  Carstairs'  feeling  that  until  Posey 
and  Mr.  Glynn  were  safely  married,  it  would 
be  more  honorable  of  her  to  keep  out  of  sight 
altogether ;  which  goes  to  show  that  deep  down 
in  the  bottom  of  her  heart  Miss  Carstairs  was 


LATTEE-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  187 

not  altogether  certain  she  had  lost  all  hold 
upon  her  former  lover's  sensibilities. 

One  of  the  strangest  experiences  ever  com- 
ing to  Helen  befell  her  at  this  time.  It  was 
nothing  less  than  a  declaration  of  his  love  in 
a  letter,  en  route,  from  M.  de  Mariol.  He 
had  written  to  her  intermittently  since  their 
parting  in  London  charming  airy  missives  in 
his  best  vein,  his  critics  would  have  said ;  let- 
ters of  rambling  travel,  of  European  politics, 
of  observation;  graceful,  incisive,  glowing 
with  color,  sparkling  with  happy  phrases; 
the  letters  of  a  poet,  a  cultured  eclectic  of  the 
twentieth  century  to  his  inspiration.  But  she 
had  not  imagined  until  she  finished  reading 
the  last  of  the  series  it  could  come  to  his 
doing  her  the  honor  of  asking  her  to  be  his 
wife.  She  was  profoundly  moved,  more  even 
than  flattered.  She  had  loved  Glynn  because 
he  was  young,  handsome,  un jaded,  therefore 
broader  than  most  of  the  men  surrounded  by 
whom  she  had  grown  up ;  because  it  had  made 
her  smile  to  be  near  him,  and  the  touch  of 
his  stalwart  hand  had  thrilled  her  with  a  thrill 
that  sometimes  came  back  now.  Mariol,  ap- 
pealing to  her  intellectual  side,  to  her  sense 
of  high  companionship,  repelled  her  as  a  lover, 


188  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

and  what  lie  asked  her  to  do  seemed,  on  the 
face  of  it,  grotesque.  His  suggestion  that  if 
she  could  be  brought  to  look  upon  him  favor- 
ably, he  would  return  immediately  to  Paris, 
filled  her  with  panic.  Her  letter  sent  in  re- 
turn was  purposely  gentle  and  simple  and  ap- 
parently unstudied,  although  nothing  had 
ever  cost  her  such  epistolary  birth-pangs. 

M.  de  Mariol  did  not  return  to  Paris,  and 
in  the  course  of  some  days  Miss  Bleecker 
also  received  an  important  letter,  although 
not  of  a  matrimonial  cast.  It  was  from  Mrs. 
Carstairs,  in  New  York,  proposing  an  inter- 
position of  diplomacy  between  her  step- 
daughter and  herself.  Mrs.  Carstairs,  self- 
confessed  a  suffering  angel  who  had  borne 
in  silence  Helen's  malignant  opposition  to 
her,  was  about  to  come  abroad  to  spend  the 
spring  in  yachting  with  her  husband  in  the 
Mediterranean,  and  would  be  glad  to  have 
Miss  Bleecker  and  Helen  join  them  anywhere 
that  was  convenient.  If  Mr.  Carstairs  him- 
self did  not  write  to  repeat  this  invitation, 
Helen  would  know  it  was  because  the  poor 
dear  was  overworked  and  brain-weary.  For 
that  reason,  if  for  none  other,  Helen  should 
put  aside  her  unjust,  and  injurious,  and  miss- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  189 

ish  fancies,  and  become  one  of  their  family 
circle  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  world. 

("  Naturally,"  said  the  astute  chaperon  to 
herself,  "  there  is  one  of  two  reasons  for  this 
urgency  to  have  Helen  with  them.  Either 
some  man  she  is  flirting  with  is  to  make  one 
of  the  party,  or  somebody  has  refused  to  re- 
ceive Mrs.  Carstairs  until  her  step-daughter 
has  done  so  first.") 

If  Helen  would  prove  herself  the  devoted 
daughter  she  had  always  boasted  of  being, 
and  subscribe  to  her  father's  wishes,  Mrs. 
Carstairs  was  empowered  by  him  to  say  that 
he  would  give  her  at  once  the  fortune,  inde- 
pendently of  himself,  that  he  had  previously 
withheld.  (Incidentally,  she  named  a  sum 
of  which  the  magnitude  made  Miss  Bleecker's 
frog-like  eyes  distend  and  her  dull  heart  beat 
excitedly.)  Helen  would  be  free  to  come,  to 
go,  to  marry  as  she  pleased. 

("  And  she'd  be  certain  to  do  it,  right 
away,"  interpolated  the  reader,  "  so  I  don't 
see  where  I  come  in  at  all.") 

Helen  would  in  fact  be  one  of  the  most  en- 
viable young  women  in  America.  In  conclu- 
sion, while  urging  upon  Miss  Bleecker  the 
necessity  of  prompt  and  vigorous  action  in 


190  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

this  delicate  matter,  Mrs.  Carstairs  made  an 
offer  to  her  own  account.  To  the  chaperon, 
if  successful  in  effecting  the  reconciliation, 
she  would  give,  unknown  to  any  one,  a  check 
for  so  many  dollars,  that,  again,  the  frog-eyes 
opened  widely,  and  Miss  Bleecker  slapped  the 
letter  upon  her  knee. 

"  The  woman  mayn't  be  well  born,  and  she 
certainly  deserves  all  Helen's  done  to  her;  but 
she's  got  brains,  and  I  think  she'll  get  there," 
said  Miss  Bleecker,  in  conclusion. 

The  beginning  of  February  saw  Miss  Car- 
stairs,  her  companion  and  the  admirable  Eu- 
lalie — who,  of  course,  started  the  journey  with 
a  headache  in  order  to  justify  her  claim  to 
be  a  first-class  ladies'  maid — leaving  Paris  in 
the  Cote  d'Azur  Rapide,  their  destination  the 
Riviera.  So  great  was  the  exodus  for  that 
coveted  spot  that  not  only  had  the  travellers 
been  unable  to  secure  for  themselves  places 
in  the  melancholy  resort  of  a  dames  seules 
carriage,  but  the  compartment  in  which  they 
found  cards  bearing  their  names  over  the  end 
seats  was  ominously  placarded  in  all  the 
other  divisions.  In  vain  Miss  Bleecker 
fumed  and  fussed  and  put  on  her  best  grand 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  191 

duchess  manner ;  in  vain  Mile.  Eulalie  looked 
like  an  early  Christian  martyr;  the  guard 
could  give  them  no  promise  of  better  things. 

After  adjusting  her  many  belongings  in  the 
racks  and  settling  down  with  a  look  of  grim 
resolution  to  bear  all  for  Helen's  sake,  it  oc- 
curred to  Miss  Bleecker  to  get  up  again  and 
read  the  names  of  their  yet  absent  fellow- 
passengers.  Two  of  them  were  foreign,  un- 
distinguished, presenting  nothing  to  her  im- 
agination, and  as  their  owners  took  posses- 
sion at  the  moment,  the  lady  sat  down  in  some 
confusion  at  being  detected  in  her  access  of 
curiosity. 

"  If  the  other  man  comes,  we'll  be  knee-to- 
knee  all  day,  and  there  won't  be  breathing 
space,"  she  whispered  across  to  Helen,  next 
whom,  in  the  middle  seat,  the  fair  Eulalie  was 
installed,  leaving  one  place  vacant  near  the 
door  upon  the  corridor. 

"  If  it's  a  man,  so  much  the  better,"  whis- 
pered Helen  back.  "  Imagine  another  head- 
ache, beside  Eulalie 's." 

"  Oh!  but  I  saw  the  name.  English  or 
American,  *  Mr.  John  Glynn,'  '  returned  the 
unknowing  chaperon,  who  having  cast  her 
bombshell,  opened  a  Paris  New  York  Herald 


192  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

and  began  to  read  the  column  of  social  move- 
ments in  America. 

Helen  sat  bolt  upright,  the  blood  tingling 
in  her  veins.  Before  she  could  recover  from 
the  first  stupor  of  astonishment,  the  train  was 
in  motion,  and,  simultaneously,  the  guard  hur- 
ried into  his  place  the  one  person  in  the  world 
whom  Miss  Carstairs  had  least  dreamed  of 
seeing. 

She  had  shaken  hands  with  him,  and  named 
him  to  Miss  Bleecker,  who  wondered  where 
Helen  had  picked  up  this  surprisingly  good- 
to-look-upon  young  man,  before  her  heart 
ceased  its  wild  palpitation,  and  she  could 
fairly  control  her  voice.  He  was  direct  from 
Cherbourg,  it  appeared,  had  crossed  Paris  in 
a  slow  fiacre,  barely  catching  the  Cote  d'Azur, 
in  which  his  place  had  been  retained  by  wire, 
and  was  on  his  way  to  the  Riviera  in  answer 
to  a  summons  concerning  important  business 
for  a  friend  resident  there  for  the  winter. 

"  I  fancy  I  know  your  friend,"  said  Helen, 
determined  to  let  no  grass  grow  under  her 
feet.  "  I  crossed  with  good  old  Mr.  Win- 
stanley  in  October,  and  he  told  me  of  your 
engagement  to  his  daughter." 

"  Yes,  that  has  been  for  some  time  an- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  193. 

nounced,"  answered  Glynn,  the  color  deep- 
ening in  his  clear  brown  skin,  while  Helen 
remained  quite  pale.  "  You  have  heard  also, 
perhaps,  of  Mr.  Winstanley's  bad  break  in 
health?  Although  better,  he  is  not  yet  able 
to  do  business  for  himself,  and  a  question 
came  up  in  connection  with  the  mines,  in  which 
it  was  necessary  to  have  his  verbal  instruc- 
tions; hence,  my  run  over.  Rather  a  jolly 
change  for  me  from  my  office  work.  Since 
October,  I  have  had  my  own  place,  you  know, 
representing  Mr.  Winstanley's  interests,  with 
headquarters  in  New  York." 

"  I  congratulate  you  doubly,  then,"  said 
Helen.  "  How  very  strange  that  you  should 
have  come  into  this  carriage  of  all  others. 
And  how  nice  for  you,  getting  out  of  the  bliz- 
zards and  the  high-piled,  dirty  snow  of  New 
York  streets  in  February,  to  have  a  glimpse 
of  obstinately  azure  skies  and  acres  of  rose 
and  jasmine!  ' 

Although  they  were  running  smoothly,  con- 
versation across  Mile.  Eulalie's  large  hands, 
in  slightly  soiled  white  kid  gloves  clasped  over 
Helen's  jewel  case,  did  not  progress  in  com- 
fort. Miss  Bleecker,  who  always  wanted  to 
be  entertained,  imperiously  signed  to  the  maid 


194  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

to  change  places  with  Mr.  Glynn,  which  was 
done,  bringing  him  close  to  the  ladies  for  a 
long  day's  run. 

In  New  York,  Miss  Bleecker  might  not 
have  looked  twice  at  a  man  not  in  Mr.  Charley 
Brownlow's  set,  and  unknown  at  any  of  the 
clubs  of  which  she  considered  membership  to 
be  the  hall-mark  of  gentility.  But  those 
things  settle  down  amazingly  abroad,  and 
she  now  saw  Glynn  with  unclouded  eyes. 
While  Helen  was  wondering  how  Posey  Win- 
stanley  could  ever  have  turned  aside  to  fancy 
Lord  Clandonald,  when  she  was  free  to  marry 
this  far  handsomer,  more  imposing,  young 
American,  Miss  Bleecker  was  subjecting 
Glynn  to  a  rapid  fire  of  questions  about  home 
matters,  from  the  new  Subway  to  the  wran- 
gles in  City  politics. 

It  was  noticeable  that  when  the  chaperon 
now  touched  upon  the  subject  of  the  Win- 
stanley  family,  she  did  so  in  a  key  greatly 
altered  from  her  former  contemptuous  one. 
A  man  who  had  risen  in  a  night  from  com- 
monplace obscurity  to  his  present  wealth 
and  growing  importance  was  a  type  of  her 
country  she  could  not  conscientiously  over- 
look. She  recalled  to  Mr.  Glynn  that  she 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  195 

had  thought  his  future  father-in-law  "  so 
quaint  yet  forceful."  She  was  not  as  en- 
thusiastic over  Mr.  Glynn's  fiancee,  but  there 
are  limits  to  what  we  must  expect  of  women. 

Still,  her  active  mind  was  even  then  spring- 
ing ahead  of  the  present.  If  she  succeeded, 
as  now  seemed  probable,  in  bringing  about  the 
reconciliation  between  Helen  and  her  father's 
wife,  and  Helen  consented  to  return  to  them 
for  the  present,  obviously  Miss  Bleecker,  al- 
though with  a  warm  nest-egg  in  her  pocket, 
would  be,  vulgarly  speaking,  out  of  a  job. 
What  better  than  to  annex  herself  to  the  Win- 
stanleys,  to  have  the  credit  of  forming  a  young 
creature  who  was  destined  to  conspicuous 
place  before  the  world  and  even,  per- 
haps  ? 

Miss  Bleecker,  at  this  juncture,  cast  a  fur- 
tive glance  at  her  reflection  in  the  little  slip 
of  mirror  over  Helen's  head.  It  was  not  ex- 
actly favorable,  since  she  had  risen  before 
the  world  was  aired,  her  complexion  looked 
yellow  where  it  ought  to  be  red,  and  certain 
fatal  lines  around  nose  and  mouth,  elusive  in 
the  evening,  stood  out,  abnormally  plain! 
Miss  Bleecker  looked  away.  By  and  by,  hope 
springing  eternal,  whispered  to  her  that  what 


196  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

a  rich  old  man  wants  in  a  wife  is  not  youth 
and  beauty,  provoking  the  eternal  triangle  of 
the  modern  situation,  but  agreeability,  tact,  a 
knowledge  of  how  to  make  the  wheels  go  round. 
She  rallied,  smiled  at  Mr.  Glynn  in  the  man- 
ner of  a  sweet  old-time  friend  and  counsellor, 
then  taking  out  a  French  novel  and  a  pearl- 
handled  paper-cutter,  subsided  into  apparent 
literature  and  actual  plan-making. 

Helen  wondered  if  ever  girl  in  her  posi- 
tion were  more  curiously  hounded  by  odd  cir- 
cumstance. She  saw  that  Glynn,  like  herself, 
was  profoundly  moved  by  their  rencontre. 
And  what  wonder,  since  when  they  had  last 
met  she  had  sobbed  her  farewell  upon  his 
breast,  his  arms  had  tightly  closed  around 
her,  and  he  had  declared  that  he  could  not, 
would  not  give  her  up ! 

He  had  been  forced  to  give  her  up,  how- 
ever, and  gradually  to  acquiesce  in  the  com- 
mon sense  of  her  decision.  The  offer  of  him- 
self to  Miss  Winstanley,  made  without  knowl- 
edge of  Posey's  altered  circumstances,  had 
been  joyously  approved  in  a  letter  posted  at 
Liverpool  by  Mr.  Winstanley,  who  had  bid- 
den John  remember  that  he  was  now  his  son, 
and,  as  such,  entitled  to  a  full  share  of  the 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  197 

good  luck  that  he  proceeded  to  unfold.  When 
Glynn  had  assumed  charge  of  Mr.  Winstan- 
ley's  interests  and  business,  he  had  for  the 
first  time  learned  the  full  meaning  and  ex- 
tent of  that  good  luck!  Mr.  Winstanley  also 
told  him  that  under  »the  circumstances  of 
Posey's  call  to  a  much  higher  position  in  life 
and  society  than  had  even  been  expected,  he 
desired  her  to  spend  some  time  longer  in  pur- 
suance of  education  and  wider  experience 
before  returning  home  to  be  married. 

A  little  dazed  by  the  turn  of  events,  Glynn 
had  acquiesced  in  this  latter  decree,  almost 
too  easily,  he  feared.  He  told  himself  that 
he  needed  time  to  adjust  his  ideas  to  the  pros- 
pect of  riches.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was 
relieved  not  to  become  Posey's  husband  until 
he  knew  her  better.  The  pretty,  half-baked, 
freakish  creature,  who  offended  his  sense  of 
conventionality,  who  dealt  with  him  so  unemo- 
tionally, seemed  about  as  practical  a  bride  as 
Undine  must  have  been  to  her  long-suffering 
knight!  Between  Posey's  image  and  himself, 
that  of  high-bred  Helen  Carstairs,  stepping 
down  from  her  proud  pedestal  to  give  him  the 
first  passion  of  her  woman's  love,  had,  in  the 
beginning,  perpetually  come.  Latterly,  this 


198  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

had  been  wearing  off,  and  stern  habit  had  as- 
serted itself,  as  it  fortunately  does. 

Posey's  letters,  surely  the  strangest  ever 
penned  by  a  betrothed  maiden  to  her  lover, 
came  to  Glynn  regularly.  She  had  told  him, 
with  appalling  frankness,  that  after  engaging 
herself  to  him  (by  telephone!)  she  had  suf- 
fered many  pangs  of  fear  that  the  whole  thing 
was  a  mistake ;  also,  she  must  confess,  she  had 
met  another  man  with  whom,  had  there  been 
no  obstructions  in  the  way,  she  might  have 
been  happier.  During  her  father's  illness, 
seeing  the  enormous  stress  he  laid  upon  her 
promise  to  marry  John,  she  had  come  to  see 
things  more  clearly,  had  recognized  in  herself 
a  vain,  silly  child,  and  was  now  resolved  to 
devote  her  whole  future  life  to  being  more 
worthy  of  her  good  fortune  as  Glynn 's  wife. 

To  read  these  artless  effusions  had  been  like 
looking  into  a  crystal  globe.  Whatever  came, 
Glynn  could  not  complain  that  she  had  de- 
ceived him.  During  his  benefactor's  danger- 
ous illness,  when  it  was  essential  for  Glynn 
to  remain  where  he  was,  and  he  could  only 
cable  his  anxiety  and  sympathy,  his  heart 
had  become  more  awakened  to  Posey's  claim 
upon  him,  and  he  had  felt  for  her  loyal  ten- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  199 

derness.  When  the  summons  from  Mr.  Win- 
stanley  arrived  that  was  to  bring  him  once 
more  in  actual  touch  with  her,  he  had  set  out 
to  obey  it,  believing  that  he  was  at  last  effectu- 
ally cured  of  old  weakness,  and  panoplied  to 
begin  the  new  life. 

And  he  had  hardly  set  foot  in  France  be- 
fore he  found  himself  seated  side  by  side  with 
Helen  Carstairs  in  a  railway  train,  flying 
southward,  with  nothing  to  disturb  their  in- 
tercourse during  a  long  day  and  evening,  and 
actually  bound  for  the  same  goal! 

Simultaneously,  Glynn  and  Helen  rose  to 
the  occasion,  put  behind  them  the  temptation 
to  revert  to  the  fond  chapter  lived  in  their 
young  lives,  and  took  up  again  the  sort  of 
intercourse  that  had  so  pleased  and  refreshed 
her  at  the  beginning  of  their  acquaintance. 
It  was  like  one  of  their  old  talks  at  the  house 
of  Helen's  friend  who  had  introduced  them 
to  each  other,  and  fostered  their  intimacy;  a 
woman  who  had  the  cleverness  to  find  inter- 
esting people  in  the  whirlpool  of  business  and 
pleasure  and  money-spending  that  calls  itself 
New  York  society,  and  the  courage  to  draw 
them  out  of  it  to  herself. 

Glynn  felt  that  he  would  long  have  cause 


200  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

to  remember  that  February  day.  The  new 
fast  train  justified  all  that  had  been  claimed 
for  it  in  speed  and  comfort.  It  tore  down 
the  Rhone  valley  as  the  mistral  tears,  it  left 
behind  Avignon,  city  of  Popes,  and  other 
spots  of  classic  interest,  as  if  it  had  been  a 
"  Flyer  "  between  Chicago  and  New  York. 
The  light  carriages  rocked  and  swayed,  stones 
from  the  road-bed  rose  up  like  a  fusillade  of 
small-arms,  striking  the  bottom  of  the  train; 
one  dared  not  leave  one's  seat  for  the  dining- 
car  for  fear  of  falling;  people  who  had  not 
exchanged  a  word  previously  began,  by  com- 
mon consent,  to  talk  all  together,  and  all  their 
talk  was  of  the  speed  of  trains  they  had 
known  and  heard  about.  Miss  Bleecker  went 
yellow  in  her  nervous  anxiety,  declaring  she 
had  no  use  for  a  train  in  which  one  could  not 
brew  a  cup  of  tea  for  fear  of  setting  things 
on  fire.  Mile.  Eulalie  wept  under  her  v,eil, 
and  accepted  brandy  offered  her  from  Miss 
Bleecker 's  flask.  The  two  solemn  travellers 
who  filled  the  other  seats,  and  now  joined  in 
general  animated  talk,  turned  out  to  be  one 
a  French  railway  engineer,  to  whose  utter- 
ances all  listened  humbly,  the  other  an  Italian 
musical  genius,  en  route  for  Monte  Carlo.  In 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  201 

the  confusion  of  tongues  and  exclamations, 
the  little  string  of  toy  carriages  bounced  and 
flew  onward,  until  suddenly  the  air  brakes 
were  put  on,  and  with  a  long  protracted  jolt- 
ing, they  came  to  a  full  stop! 

Something  had  happened,  but  what  ?  Glynn 
and  the  engineer,  going  outside  to  investigate 
matters,  in  the  falling  dusk,  returned  to  re- 
port that  their  carriage  was  to  go  no  farther, 
and  its  passengers  were  to  be  transferred  to 
the  one  ahead. 

"  As  well  as  I  can  make  out,  it  is  the  com- 
plaint not  unknown  to  our  railways  of  a 
'  hot  box,7  '  said  Glynn.  "  The-  bother  is, 
that  you  ladies  must  take  what  seats  you  can 
get  till  our  journey's  end." 

Officials,  coming  to  hurry  them,  showed  but 
scant  sympathy  with  Miss  Bleecker's  indig- 
nant protests,  with  Eulalie's  fresh  burst  of 
tears.  Helen,  following  her  chaperon  quietly, 
had  an  odd  sensation  that  nothing  mattered 
much  so  long  as  Glynn  was  at  her  elbow  speak- 
ing cheery,  merry  words ! 

They  threaded  their  way  into  the  carriage 
ahead,  to  be  received  with  what  enthusiasm 
by  the  tired,  nervous,  over-strained  passengers 
already  filling  its  full  space,  may  be  imagined. 


202  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

Miss  Bleecker  was  accommodated  with  the 
odd  seat  of  a  compartment  reserved  by  a 
French  couple  of  her  acquaintance,  who,  feel- 
ing rather  bored  by  so  much  of  each  other's 
society,  made  a  virtue  of  necessity  in  welcom- 
ing the  stranded  American  lady.  Eulalie  was 
tucked  somewhere  happily  out  of  sight.  For 
Helen  and  Glynn  there  remained  but  two 
camp-stools,  produced  by  a  guard,  and  placed 
in  the  corridor  at  the  rear! 

"  I  have  heard  of  blessings  in  disguise," 
he  said  significantly,  when  they  were  speed- 
ing forward  again  toward  Marseilles. 

' i  This  is  really  better  than  that  stuffy  place 
we  had,"  she  answered,  made  happy,  despite 
herself,  by  the  meaning  in  his  tones. 

"  If  any  one  had  told  me  that  I  should  be 
to-day  sitting  beside  you,  rushing  through  the 
darkness  headlong  to  the  unknown,  I  would 
have  counted  it  a  fable." 

"  You  are  not  rushing  to  the  unknown.  I 
cannot  think  of  any  one  whose  life  and  work 
are  more  clearly  cut  out  for  him  or  more 
sure  of  a  happy  ending." 

"  I — I  suppose  so,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh. 

"  You  know  it,  Mr.  Glynn." 

"  Has  it  come  to  Mr.  Glvnn?  " 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  203 

"  Don't  make  things  worse  for  me  than 
they  are,"  she  exclaimed  confusedly.  She 
felt  frightened  that  one  moment  of  isolation 
with  him  had  brought  back  into  his  voice  the 
lover's  cadence,  after  their  months  of  blank 
separation,  and  their  day  just  passed  in  re- 
nunciation and  good  behavior.  The  admis- 
sion in  her  speech,  the  forlorn  droop  of  her 
mouth,  were  too  much  for  his  strained  reso- 
lution. 

"  Tell  me  one  thing  only,  Helen — as  if  we 
two  were  standing  on  the  verge  of  everlasting 
parting — have  you  cared?  ' 

"  When  have  I  not  cared?  "  she  said  im- 
petuously. 

"  jffadittobe?" 

"  I  thought  so,  then.  I  haven't  always 
thought  so  since.  Latterly " 

"  Go  on.  Latterly — ?  "  he  said,  in  a  dreary 
tone. 

"  I  have  made  a  compromise  with  my  father 
about  something  in  dispute  between  us.  He 
has  made  me  more  than  independent  of  him. 
Isn't  it  always  so  in  life,  that  relief  comes 
too  late?  " 

"  What  did  that  ever  matter,  anyway? 
Wasn't  I  ready,  willing,  eager,  mad,  to  take 


204  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

you  as  you  were?  Would  it  have  been  the 
first  time  an  American  man  married  an  Amer- 
ican woman  without  a  penny  between  them, 
except  what  he  could  earn?  The  trouble  was 
that  you  couldn't  trust  me." 

"  That  I  couldn't  trust  myself,"  she  said 
bitterly.  "  I  knew  my  world  better  than  you 
did,  John." 

"  But  you  say  you  haven't  always  thought 
the  same  since,"  he  exclaimed,  searching  her 
eyes  with  a  desperately  anxious  gaze. 

"  It  is  not  fair  to  wring  from  me  such  ad- 
missions. It  isn't  like  you  to  persist  in  talk 
like  this.  After  all,  you  were  the  first  to 
console  yourself." 

His  face  fell  into  gloom.  He  drew  away 
from  her  and,  for  a  while,  sat  in  silence. 
Helen  turned  to  look  out  of  the  window  to 
hide  her  gathering  tears. 

It  was  a  miserable  time  for  both,  yet  neither 
would  have  yielded  up  an  inch  of  it  in  ex- 
change for  any  imaginable  pleasure.  Helen 
was  thinking,  "  Oh,  that  the  train  would  only 
go  on  forever,  and  let  me  sit  by  him  on  this 
horrid  little  stool  without  a  back !  "  and  Glynn 
would  have  fought  any  guard  or  conductor 
who  came  to  offer  them  the  usual  seats  among 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  205 

other  people.  They  said  very  little,  but  felt 
the  more.  At  Marseilles,  where  they  went  out- 
side for  a  whiff  of  soft,  delicious  air,  fancying 
they  smelt  orange  blossoms,  and  saw  stars 
looking  into  the  sea,  and  during  the  rest  of 
the  zigzag  run  along  the  lovely  coast  to 
Cannes,  each  knew  that  the  other  was  dread- 
ing the  finale  of  their  strange  experience. 

As  they  ran  into  the  Cannes  station  toward 
eleven  o'clock,  and  it  became  necessary  to 
rouse  up  nodding  Miss  Bleecker,  and  collect 
woful  Eulalie,  with  her  bags  and  bundles, 
Helen  and  he  rose  simultaneously,  with  a 
shiver  of  apprehension. 

"  This  is  the  last  time,  John1?  " 

"  The  last  time,  Helen — darling,"  he  said, 
in  a  hoarse  undertone  of  yearning  tenderness. 

Their  hands  met  and  strained  together.  Her 
eyes  answered  his,  and  he  did  not  again 
doubt. 

"  It  has  been  all  one  great,  terrible  mis- 
take," she  went  on,  more  steadily.  "  We  have 
got  to  meet,  if  you  stay  here,  and  after  this 
there's  to  be  no  more  weakness,  remember! 
We'll  be  pretty  poor  stuff  if  we  can't  conquer 
ourselves,  don't  you  think  so?  ' 

Hers  was  the  last  word,  for  Miss  Bleecker, 


206  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

tottering  like  a  somnambulist,  issued  forth 
to  interrupt  them.  Helen  and  she  were  as- 
sisted out  of  the  train  by  Glynn,  and  placed 
in  custody  of  their  hotel's  station-porter.  A 
moment  more,  the  ladies  were  in  the  'bus 
alone,  threading  the  back  streets  of  the  sleepy 
little  town,  to  ascend  the  hill  to  a  stately  hos- 
telry, where  their  arrival  was  the  signal  for 
a  theatrical  effect  of  house-porters  in  scarlet 
jackets  issuing  from  a  brilliantly  lighted  en- 
trance around  which  roses  and  bougainvillea 
twined. 

"  Really,  Helen,"  observed  Miss  Bleecker, 
whose  good-humor  returned  as  she  looked 
complacently  around  their  pretty  suite  of 
rooms,  where  lights  and  flowers  and  a  small 
fire  of  olive-wood  combined  to  make  the 
travellers  forget  their  woes.  "  I  must  say 
they  have  done  very  well  for  us.  I  believe  we 
shall  be  comfortable  here  until  the  yacht  ar- 
rives. And  how  delightful  it  is  to  think  you 
sent  that  cable,  yesterday,  consenting  to  join 
your  dear  father  and  his  wife.  When  you  lay 
your  head  on  your  pillow,  every  night  after 
this,  you  will  sleep  more  sweetly  with  the 
thought  of  having — why,  child,  you're  white 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  207 

as  a  ghost!  I  suppose  you're  a  little  train- 
sick,  after  the  shaking-up  we  got.  It  was  too 
bad  your  having  to  sit  out  on  that  wretched 
little  camp-stool,  but  you  seemed  to  get  along 
well  enough  with  Mr.  Glynn,  and  there  wasn't 
an  inch  left  in  Countess  de  Saint  Eustache's 
compartment.  Do  you  know,  she  told  me  the 
whole  story,  from  beginning  to  end,  of  Kate 
Ravenel's  unfortunate  marriage  with  the 
Marquis  de  Contour.  My  dear,  he  is  an  ab- 
solute decadent!  And  to  think  how  the  Ra- 
venels  bought  and  paid  for  him  in  hard 
cash,  and  how  wretchedly  they  were  sold  in 
the  transaction!  By  the  way,  the  Countess 
knows  our  friend,  M.  de  Mariol,  intimately, 
and  says  that  for  people  to  get  him  to  their 
dinners  or  country  houses  is  the  greatest 
feather  in  their  caps !  He  is  de  tout,  she  as- 
sures me,  which,  of  course,  makes  one  enjoy 
his  writings  so  much  more.  I  hope  we  shall 
certainly  meet  him  again.  Helen,  speaking 
of  young  Glynn,  if  ever  a  man  was  born  with 
a  gold  spoon  in  his  mouth,  it's  he.  To  be 
marrying  Mr.  Winstanley's  only  child,  and 
they  having  gone  up  like  a  house  afire !  The 
Countess  says  the  Winstanleys  have  been 
floated  here  by  Lady  Campstown,  and  already 


208  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

know  everybody,  and  are  much  liked.  It 
seems  they  have  one  of  the  most  desirable 
villas,  own  a  smart  motor,  the  girl  has  no 
end  of  stunning  gowns — you  remember  they 
showed  us  at  Worth's  the  evening  frocks 
they  were  sending  down  to  her — and  will  soon 
be  entertaining  lavishly.  The  question  is, 
where  did  Lady  Campstown  pick  her  up? 
We  must  call  on  both  of  them  to-morrow.  I 
am  all  anxiety  to  meet  dear  Lady  Campstown 
again,  and  I  confess  I  am  anxious  to  get  a 
peep  inside  Villa  Reine  des  Fees." 

"  I  fancy  you  will  find  Miss  Winstanley 
changed  in  many  respects,  Miss  Bleecker," 
said  Helen,  wearily.  "  But  it  seems  to  me 
hardly  probable  she  has  lost  her  high  spirit 
in  this  little  time.  And  she  may  remember 
your  conduct  to  her  on  shipboard." 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear!  "  answered  the  chap- 
eron, complacently.  "  As  we  live  now,  it  is 
always  easy  and  generally  convenient  to  for- 
get. The  girl,  for  all  her  barbarisms,  seemed 
to  have  a  level  head.  She  will  be  charmed  to 
see  us,  and  so  will  Lady  Campstown,  who  had 
set  her  heart  upon  marrying  you  to  that 
nephew  of  hers,  Clandonald.  If  it  were  not 
for  young  Glynn,  I  should  imagine  that  the 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  209 

Lady  Campstown  had  gone  off  on  another  tack 
in  her  heiress  cruise.  Looks  like  it,  don't  you 
think?  If  Miss  Winstanley  hasn't  told  her  of 
her  engagement  to  Glynn,  there'll  be  a  pretty 
row  on  presently.  We'll  call,  at  any  rate.  I 
am  glad  to  hear  Mr.  Winstanley  is  no  worse, 
and  may  be  counted  upon  to  recover  perma- 
nently from  this  attack.  I  wonder  if  he 
likes  being  read  aloud  to,  Helen?  To  show 
that  I  bear  no  ill-will  to  the  girl  for  her  pert- 
ness  to  me,  I'd  just  as  soon  offer  to  sit  with 
him,  sometimes.  I  was  always  said  to  have 
great  success  with  invalids.  And  we'd  bet- 
ter be  prompt  in  looking  them  up,  for  who 
knows  whether  this  is  really  a  business  trip 
of  Glynn 's?  I  should  be  much  inclined  to 
think  he  has  run  over  to  look  after  his  heir- 
ess, and  see  that  she  does  not  slip  through 
his  fingers,  with  all  these  fine  people  with 
titles  hanging  around  her.  Glynn  looks  like  a 
positive,  if  not  self-willed,  fellow,  Helen.  In- 
deed, I  shouldn't  in  the  least  wonder  if  the 
business  pretext  is  a  blind,  and  M .  le  fiance 
won't  go  back  to  America  without  his  bride. 
In  that  case,  we  shall  have  a  smart  wedding 
at  Cannes,  and  poor  Mr.  Winstanley  will  be 
left  all  to  himself  at  Villa  Reine  des  Fees. 


210  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

They  say  there  is  nothing  like  that  entrance 
hall  and  staircase  in  the  town,  all  marbles  of 
the  rarest  and  most  beautiful  colors ;  and  the 
dining-room,  with  its  wall  tapestries  and 
screens,  is  fit  for  a  palace.  Poor  Mr.  Win- 
stanley!  There  is  nothing  so  sad  in  life  as 
a  person  of — well,  middle  age — left  alone  by 
young  people  for  whom  he  has  done  every- 
thing. There  should  be  some  congenial  and 
sympathetic  soul  to — poor  Mr.  Winstanley !  ' 


CHAPTER   VIII 

"  COME  a  little  way  down  this  walk,  John," 
Posey  said,  the  morning  after  her  lover's 
arrival,  while  engaged  in  showing  him  the 
place,  "  and  you  will  see  exactly  where  the 
woman  was  sitting  yesterday,  when  she  got 
up  and  spoke  to  me  in  that  dreadful  way.  I 
never  dare  tell  my  father,  and  it  would  worry 
dear  Lady  Campstown  out  of  her  wits  to 
think  any  suspicious  outsider  had  been  seen 
lurking  about  the  grounds.  I  rather  fancied 
this  person  was  out  of  her  head,  and  so,  when 
she  vanished  abruptly,  I  just  told  the  gar- 
dener that  a  doubtful-looking  stranger  had 
been  in  the  garden,  and  his  men  must  be  on 
the  watch  to  see  that  it  doesn't  occur  again." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Glynn.  "  I  dare  say 
you  won't  hear  of  her  any  more.  What  sort 
of  a  lunatic  was  she  ?  Young  or  old,  smart  or 
shabby,  English-speaking  or  foreign?  ' 

"  Oh!  English  decidedly,  with  one  of  thein 
lovely  low  voices,  from  the  throat.  A  lady, 
I  suppose,  one  would  call  her,  but  shabby  and 


212  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

deadly  pale  with  glittering  brown  eyes,  and 
lips  with  no  color.  I  should  think  she  took 
morphine,  or  some  of  those  horrid  things. 
Her  clothes  had  been  handsome  once,  but 
were  put  on  in  a  slovenly  way. ' ' 

"  Probably  some  poor  soul  here  for  her 
health,  who  had  escaped  from  her  care- 
takers. Certainly,  you  can  have  no  enemies, 
my  dear  girl?  ' 

"  I  didn't  think  so,"  answered  Posey, 
flushing,  "  until  I  received  a  number  of 
anonymous  letters  on  shipboard,  and  several 
afterward.  Then  they  stopped  suddenly." 

"  Do  you  mind  telling  me  their  drift?  ' 

Posey 's  cheeks  became  crimson,  but  she 
looked  him  bravely  in  the  face. 

"  They  were  all  full  of  lying  things  against 
me  and  the  man  I  told  you  I  met  at  sea — and 
have  never  seen  or  heard  from  since." 

"  Thank  you,  dear,"  said  Glynn,  simply. 
"  We  have  both  need  of  consideration  for 
each  other,  and  I  trust  you  thoroughly.  But 
this  gives  me  an  idea.  You  say  the  mor- 
phine lady  told  you  she  had  a  favor  to  ask  of 
you " 

"  Yes,  but  before  she  could  get  further, 
the  gardener's  man  came  in  sight,  and  she 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  213 

took  flight.  She  said  that  I  was  luckier  than 
she,  since  I  could  buy  my  peace,  and  she'd 
advise  me  not  to  hold  back  now  when  I'd  a 
chance  to  do  so." 

"  That's  blackmail,  not  insanity.  The 
woman  has  probably  spent  her  last  sou  at 
Monte  Carlo,  and  reading  about  you  in  the 
papers,  thinks  you're  a  good  object  to  attack 
for  funds." 

"  It's  no  use,  John.  I  can't  tell  half  a 
thing,  to  save  my  life,"  exclaimed  the  girl, 
desperately.  "  At  the  moment  she  ran  down 
that  alley  of  laurustinus,  she  called  back, 
'  You  can't  expect  your  friend,  Lord  Clan- 
donald  to  pay  all,  and  you  nothing,  to  shut 
mouths. ' 

Glynn  walked  beside  her  in  moody  silence. 
The  matter  was  worse  than  he  had  feared. 
To  find  Posey  in  the  toils  of  an  obnoxious 
scheme  for  torment  and  money-getting,  was 
more  than  annoying.  He  justly  considered 
that  it  was  paying  too  high  for  her  successes, 
her  magnificent  establishment  in  life.  For 
the  moment  it  blotted  out  the  blue  of  sky  and 
blurred  the  exquisite  beauty  of  their  sur- 
roundings. 

He  had,  like  everybody  else,  heard  of  Clan- 


214  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

donald  and  his  matrimonial  infelicities,  his 
divorce,  and  his  visit  to  the  States.  A  strong 
resentment  took  possession  of  the  young 
American  at  the  idea  that  this  Briton,  bat- 
tered by  foul  tongues  and  associations,  should 
be  the  one  who,  even  for  a  moment,  had  won 
Posey's  allegiance  away  from  himself. 

"  You  are  angry.  I  knew  you  would  be," 
she  burst  out  finally.  "  I  at  first  thought  of 
telling  Lady  Campstown,  and  asking  her  ad- 
vice. But  Lord  Clandonald  is  her  nephew, 
almost  her  son,  and  I  was  ashamed.  She  has 
not  the  faintest  idea  there  was  ever  anything 
between  us." 

"  Between  you?    What  can  you  mean?  ' 
wrathfully    demanded    Glynn,    whose    merit 
was  never  that  of  tolerance. 

"  I  don't  know  myself.  It  was  all  so  sud- 
den, and  passed  so  quickly.  He  used  to  come 
and  talk  and  walk  with  me  upon  the  ship.  I 
began  by  being  sorry  for  him,  because  his 
life  had  been  so  spoiled.  He  never  said  a 
word  of  flattery  or  silly  talk  like  the  others. 
He  seemed  to  me  a  man." 

"  Well,  go  on,  please,"  said  Glynn,  curtly. 

"  One  evening  when  that  old  wretch  Mr. 
Vereker  tried  to  kiss  me  out  on  deck " 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  215 

"  What!  '  thundered  Glynn,  his  brows 
meeting,  his  eyes  darting  ire  upon  her. 

"  He  didn't  do  it,  John;  just  missed  the  tip 
of  my  ear,  and  I  hit  him  in  the  face.  I  ran 
away  to  Miss  Carstairs  and  Lord  Clandonald, 
and  told  them,  or  rather  didn't  tell  them — they 
understood.  Clandonald  looked  just  as  you  do 
now,  and  put  himself  in  front  of  me,  and  I 
was  so  glad  to  be  protected,  when  all  the  ship 
was  saying  mean,  spiteful  things  of  me,  that 
for  a  little  while  I  thought  I  must  be  in  love 
with  Lord  Clandonald " 

"  This  alone  is  worth  crossing  the  ocean  to 
hear,"  commented  Glynn  with  bitter  sar- 
casm. 

"  Well,  you  know  I  told  you  of  it  at  the 
time.  It  was  a  perfectly  hopeless  thing, 
anyhow.  Even  if  you  hadn't  been  there,  I 
couldn't  marry  a  divorced  man  whose  wife 
is  living.  It's  just  one  of  those  fashionable 
habits  that  doesn't  happen  to  appeal  to  me." 

"  Posey,  you  are  unconquerable,"  he  said, 
a  gleam  of  amusement  coming  into  his  eyes. 

"  You  might  as  well  hear  all  the  rest. 
After  I  had  those  nasty  letters,  I  kept  away 
from  him  and  got  daddy  to  give  up  London, 
because  I'd  promised  we  would  go  down  to 


216  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

lunch  at  Beaumanoir,  his  home.  It  was  my 
first  and  last  chance  at  an  English  ancestral 
mansion,  I  reckon.  The  last  night  aboard, 
when  we  were  at  anchor  near  Liverpool,  in 
a  fog,  daddy  and  I  met  him,  by  accident,  on 
deck.  Dear  old  dad,  who  can't  be  made  to 
suspect  anybody,  would  run  off  after  his  let- 
ter of  credit,  that  he'd  packed  in  a  steamer 
coat  and  almost  sent  ashore.  I  was  left  with 
Lord  Clandonald.  I  tell  you,  John,  you 
couldn't  have  treated  me  better  than  he  did 
then.  There  was  one  little  minute  when  I 
was  scared,  though.  He  was  furious  when 
I  told  him  of  the  anonymous  letters.  He 
said  there  was  only  one  who  could  have  done 
it,  but  how,  in  God's  name,  did  she  get  upon 
that  ship?  And  then  he  asked  me  to  let 
him  stand  between  me  and  all  such  people 
always " 

"  You  let  him  ask  you  that?  " 

"  John,  you  know  when  a  man  and  a  girl 
are  together  things  get  said  that  they  never 
dreamed  of  saying.  I  knew  like  a  shot  I 
ought  to  have  told  Clandonald  about  you  be- 
fore. But  how  could  I  introduce  the  subject 
in  cold  blood " 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  217 

"  I  am  afraid  it  was  cold  blood, "  interpo- 
lated John  ruefully. 

"  Well,  you  couldn't  expect  me  to  thrill 
and  tremble,  and  all  those  things  they  do  in 
novels,  when  I'd  said  yes  in  a  telephone 
booth,  and  never  seen  you  after.  I  tried  to, 
John.  Honestly,  I  did,  but  it  wasn't  the 
least  use." 

Glynn  would  have  been  more  than  mortal 
not  to  laugh  at  her  look  of  humble  apology. 

1 '  Ah !  well,  Posey  dear,  I  '11  not  be  hard  on 
you.  But  tell  me,  please,  what  further  passed 
between  you  and  Lord  Clandonald?  ' 

"  Absolutely  nothing.  All  I  could  do  was 
to  turn  the  conversation  away  from  him  and 
me.  I  couldn't  find  the  least  little  way  to 
bring  you  into  it,  or  to  say,  *  Unhand  me,  sir, 
my  heart  and  faith  are  another's,'  since  his 
hands  were  in  his  pockets  and  mine  in  my 
muff,  and  we  were  both  saturated  with  Chan- 
nel fog.  I  just  thanked  him  for  all  his  kind- 
ness to  me  on  the  voyage,  and  told  him  what's 
true,  that  I'd  never  forget  it;  though,  if  he 
ever  met  me  again  I'd  probably  be  a  very 
different  sort  of  Posey  Winstanley.  And 
then  he  calmed  down,  and  it  was  all  over  for- 
ever, and  I  ran  away  to  see  if  daddy  had  found 


218  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

his  letter  of  credit — and — and — I've  never 
seen  or  heard  from  Clandonald  since." 

"  Posey,  you  are  a  child  still,  a  charming 
child,  and  I  love  you  for  it,  dear." 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  you,  John,  and  the 
greatest  possible  relief.  If  you  knew  what  a 
double-faced  sort  of  thing  I've  felt  myself  to 
be  all  these  months,  remembering  that  I'd  let 
another  man  almost  propose  to  me,  when  I 
had  given  you  my  word  of  honor — there's  one 
thing  I'd  like  to  ask  before  we've  done  with 
the  subject,  though.  What  does  it  mean  when 
a  person  is  by  you  and  you'd  give,  oh!  any- 
thing if  they  wouldn't  go  away?  ' 

John  started  genuinely.  A  vision  flashed 
to  him  of  those  blessed  maddening  hours  in 
the  train  the  day  before,  when  Helen  and  he 
had  sat  together,  and  he  jealously  begrudged 
every  revolution  of  the  iron  wheels  that,  with- 
out mercy,  carried  them  toward  their  parting. 

'  I  don't  know,  Posey,"  he  murmured  guilt- 
ily. '  '  Why  in  the  world  do  you  ask  me  that  ?  ' 

"  Because  I  thought  you  would  tell  me, 
honestly,"  said  she,  with  a  speculative  ex- 
pression. "  It  has  bothered  me  often,  won- 
dering. But  it  doesn't  matter.  Now  you  are 
here,  everything  seems  straight  and  clear  be- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  219 

fore  me.  Shall  I  ever  forget  daddy's  raptur- 
ous old  face  when  he  sat  by  your  supper-tray 
at  the  library  table,  last  night,  forcing  you  to 
eat  indigestible  food,  and  looking  from  one  to 
the  other  of  us?" 

"  But  he  has  aged,  dear,"  said  Glynn,  with 
a  twinge  of  pain.  "  One  sees  the  spirit  in 
his  face  above  the  flesh.  We  must  never  let 
him  know  care  or  trouble  again,  little  girl. 
We  must  strengthen  his  arms,  one  on  either 
side  of  him,  and  make  him  walk  easily  through 
life." 

"  How  beautifully  you  talk,  John!  "  cried 
she.  "  Ah!  No  Englishman  could  ever  have 
felt  that  way  toward  my  daddy.  No  other 
man  could  give  him  what  you  do.  Yes,  you 
are  right.  It's  our  life-work  to  put  him  be- 
tween us,  and  look  out  for  him  every  day." 

"  And  to  do  so,"  went  on  Glynn  resolutely, 
"  we  should  marry  soon." 

Posey  started  visibly. 

"  Must  we,  John?  Oh!  I  hadn't  thought  of 
that." 

"  Is  the  idea  a  pain  to  you?  ' 

"  Perhaps.  I  don't  know.  I've  always  put 
it  out  of  my  mind  when  it  weighed  on  me. 
Daddy  gave  me  a  year,  John,"  she  added 


220  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

pleadingly.     ' '  And  the  year  began  in  October. 
This  is  only  February.     We're  all  so  happy 


as  we  are.' 


Happy!  Again  that  clutch  of  iron  upon 
Glynn's  heartstrings! 

"  Happiness  will  come  more  fully  and 
freely,  my  sweetheart,"  he  said,  striving  for 
words,  "  when  we  have  put  his  heart's  desire 
beyond  all  chance.  I  think  you  will  both  have 
to  come  back  with  me  to  America  this  Spring, 
if  I'm  to  serve  his  interests  as  I  should.  Let 
me  take  my  wife  with  me,  Posey." 

"  What,  now?  "  she  cried,  with  wide-open, 
panic-stricken  eyes.  "  Oh!  goodness  gracious, 
I  hope  not  now !  ' 

"  I  am  due  again  in  New  York  almost  imme- 
diately, but  will  be  free  to  return  the  beginning 
of  next  month,  or  a  little  later.  By  that  time 
the  heat  will  be  sending  you  away  from  the 
Riviera,  and  would  it  not  be  best  for  us  to  be 
married  very  quietly  here,  and  let  Mr.  Win- 
stanley's  son  and  daughter  take  care  of  him 
upon  the  voyage?  ' 

"  A  wedding  here?    What  a  funny  idea!  ' 
cried  Posey.    "  Not  a  girl  I  know  to  ask  as 
bridesmaid — at  least,  the  only  one  I'd  want 
would  be  Helen  Carstairs,  who  has  just  arrived 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  221 

in  Cannes,  and  I  don't  know  about  her.  Per- 
haps she  mightn't  wish;  but  she  was  too  dear 
to  me,  John,  on  shipboard,  as  I  wrote  you.  By 
the  way,  you  didn't  seem  to  take  the  least  in- 
terest in  my  friendship  with  Helen,  and  yet  it 
has  done  me  a  world  of  good.  Not  a  girly- 
girly  affair  in  the  least,  I  assure  you.  We'd 
both  have  scorned  that.  She  has  written  to 
me  several  times,  and  I  was  simply  wild  with 
pleasure  to  hear  she  was  coming  down  to 
Cannes.  I  think  if  you'd  realized  what  Helen 
is,  John,  at  least  what  she  is  to  me,  you'd  not 
have  been  so  indifferent.  I  must  tell  you  the 
truth,  I  was  really  quite  hurt  with  you.  But 
you'll  meet  here,  and  then  you'll  see  for  your- 
self, and  end  by  adoring  her  as  I  do — oh, 
John,"  she  exclaimed,  interrupting  her  light 
chatter  with  an  exclamation  of  terror,  * '  there 's 
that  woman  now!  ' 

11  What  woman,  Posey?  "  he  asked,  bewil- 
dered at  her  rapid  change  of  subject. 

'  *  Hush !  The  one  I  told  you  of,  who  fright- 
ened me  yesterday — the  mad  woman.  Don't 
turn  suddenly,  but,  after  a  second,  look  be- 
tween those  two  lemon  trees.  She  just  glided 
past  as  we  were  speaking,  down  the  walk  from 
Villa  Julia,  and  is  hiding  behind  the  shrub- 


222  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

bery.  She's  waiting  for  me,  John.  This  is 
getting  terrible !  ' 

"  She  shall  have  me"  said  Glynn  grimly, 
his  senses  alert  in  a  moment  to  the  danger 
Posey  ran. 

"  Don't  make  a  scene  with  her — don't  alarm 
daddy,"  she  went  on. 

4  *  Trust  me, ' '  he  answered  briefly.  ' '  Do  you 
go  into  the  house,  and  stay  there  till  I  come. 
Say  nothing  to  any  one,  and  I'll  rid  you  of 
your  nightmare." 

As  Posey  mutely  obeyed  him,  albeit  with  a 
blanched  face,  Clandonald's  saying  came  into 
Glynn 's  mind,  "  There's  but  one  woman  who 
would  do  this  thing."  Verily,  Glynn  would 
not  have  to  go  far  to  find  her. 

She  arose  from  her  bench  as  he  approached 
— evidently  badly  scared.  A  man  of  his  years 
and  vigor  and  mastery  of  the  situation  had  not 
entered  into  her  calculations  of  this  experi- 
ence. 

"  You  look  surprised  at  seeing  me  here," 
she  said  rapidly,  with  perfectly  well-bred 
ease.  "  I  suppose  it  is  trespass,  but  the  villa 
had  been  so  long  unoccupied,  we  had  got  into 
the  way  of  running  into  the  garden  from  my 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  223 

aunt,  Lady  Campstown's,  whose  house  is 
across  the  lane  yonder." 

He  was  for  a  moment  thrown  off  his  guard 
and  bowed,  acquiescing,  as  any  gentleman 
would  have  done. 

"  However,  I  am  just  going,"  she  added. 
"  The  little  green  door  is  very  familiar  to  me, 
I  assure  you." 

"  Might  I  delay  you  one  moment,"  he  said 
courteously,  "  to  ask  what  can  be  your  motive 
in  annoying  and  threatening  the  young  lady 
of  this  house?  I  ask  in  her  father's  name, 
and  we  wish  you  to  know  that  this  must  be 
absolutely  the  last  time  that  you  come  into 
these  grounds." 

"What  difference  does  it  make?"  she 
asked  fretfully,  throwing  out  her  hands  with 
a  weary  gesture  and  losing  her  self-control. 
"  I  can  always  reach  her,  somehow.  She  has 
not  done  with  me  yet,  I  can  tell  her.  Unless," 
she  added,  with  a  low,  meaning  laugh,  "  her 
friends  are  ready  to  make  it  well  worth  my 
while  to  disappear." 

"  You  will  not  find  her  friends  unwilling 
to  aid  in  that  desirable  result.  But  I  have 
first  to  know  your  motive  in  annoying  her  so 
cruelly." 


224  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

"  Call  it  rivalry,  call  it  revenge,"  she  said, 
with  a  shrug.  "  Either  one  of  these  causes  is 
strong  enough.  She  is,  if  you  must  know,  the 
only  woman  I  ever  feared  could  take  my  place 
in  my  late  husband's  life — permanently,  I 
mean/'  she  added,  with  an  ugly  smile. 

"  I  take  it  that  I  am  speaking  to  Lord  Clan- 
donald's  divorced  wife?  ' 

"  Really,  my  good  sir,  you  give  yourself,  or 
rather  Miss  Winstanley , '  away, '  as  they  say  in 
the  vernacular  of  your  richly-gifted  country. 
You  are  evidently  well-informed  of  the  prog- 
ress of  that  immaculate  young  lady's  affair 
with  Clandonald — continued  on  shipboard 
doubtless  from  America,  and  who  knows 
when  and  where  since?  ' 

"  The  young  lady,  whose  name  I  forbid 
you  to  mention  here,"  cried  Glynn,  with  a 
darkened  countenance,  "  met  the  gentleman 
in  question  on  shipboard  for  the  first  time,  as 
she  did  twenty  others,  and  has  never  seen  or 
communicated  with  him  since." 

"  She  has  convinced  you  of  that  fact — 
then  rumor  is  right  for  once,  and  there  is  a 
confiding  fiance  from  America?  After  all, 
yours  is  a  younger  civilization  than  ours,  and 
you  still  believe  in  your  girls?  " 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  225 

Glynn  interrupted  her.  He  had  got  all  he 
wanted  from  Ruby  Darien. 

She  had  been  a  striking  beauty,  had,  even 
now,  a  certain  reckless  grace  of  manner. 
Her  face  was  as  Posey  had  described  it.  He 
read  there  untruth,  degradation  of  moral 
fibre,  and  the  ravage  of  disease  and  drugs. 
There  was  no  use  in  dealing  with  her  in 
heroics.  Money  would  buy  her,  and  money 
she  should  have. 

"  If  Miss  Winstanley's  friends  agree  to 
make  it  worth  your  while — substantially 
worth  your  while  "  (her  eyes  glittered)  "  to 
keep  at  a  distance  from  her,  never  again  to 
approach  her  in  deed  or  speech,  at  the  risk 
of  forfeiting  a  monthly  allowance  of  say — " 
(here  he  mentioned  a  sum  which  caused  Ruby 
Darien's  haggard  face  to  flush  high  with  cov- 
etous delight) — "  it  will  certainly  not  be  with- 
out an  understanding  on  their  part  of  how 
you  contrived  to  present  yourself  through 
Lady  Campstown's  premises  without  identi- 
fication by  her  servants. ' ' 

11  That  was  a  small  matter,"  she  said 
eagerly.  "  Although  my  respected  aunt-in- 
law  has  long  since  instructed  her  staff  not 
to  admit  me  to  her  presence,  there  remains 


226  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

in  her  employ  a  child  of  nature,  an  untutored 
Provengal  housemaid,  who  in  former  days 
chose  to  idealize  me,  and  even  now  would  do 
anything  reasonably  atrocious  at  my  bidding. 
She  it  was  who  contrived  to  let  me  in  from 
the  lane,  to  which  a  cab  from  the  station 
brought  me  up  the  hill.  I  should  tell  you 
that  I  am  stopping  temporarily  at  Nice,  in 
an  hotel  where  they  accept  me  wdthout  ques- 
tions, but  which  has  proved,  alas,  too  fatally 
convenient  to  Monte  Carlo!  ' 

"  Then,  if  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  myself 
see  you  into  another  cab  for  your  return. 
There  is  a  station  for  carriages  at  no  great 
distance  down  the  road  from  here.  To-mor- 
row I  will  present  myself  at  your  hotel  in 
Nice,  with  the  necessary  papers  insuring  to 
you  the  allowance  I  named,  and  an  agree- 
ment, which  I  shall  in  return  ask  you  to  sign, 
pledging  yourself  to  keep  your  side  of  the 
bargain." 

"  American  promptitude  in  business  is 
proverbial,"  she  said,  essaying  an  easy  laugh, 
and  darting  a  side  glance,  not  unmixed  with 
admiration,  upon  her  interlocutor.  "  How 
nice  it  must  be  to  be  disgustingly  rich  as  all 
you  Yankees  are ;  to  be  able  to  confound  the 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  227 

politics  and  frustrate  the  knavish  tricks  of 
your  enemies  by  the  prompt  administration 
of  hard  cash!  I  always  thought  that  if  I'd 
had  money  enough  to  be  good  on,  I  might 
have  graduated  as  a  saint." 

When  Glynn  walked  up  the  steps  at  Reine 
des  Fees,  feeling  a  mixture  of  disgust  and 
pride  in  his  victory  achieved,  Posey  ran  out 
to  meet  him,  slipping  her  arm  in  his. 

* '  You  Ve  triumphed,  I  see.  Oh !  John, 
dear,  what  daddy  needs  is  a  real  son  like 
you,  and  I,  just  such  a  brother.  Don't  tell 
me  anything  about  that  horrid  creature  now, 
let's  be  happy  for  a  while.  Let  us  speak  of 
something  as  far  from  her  as  one  pole  of 
earth  is  from  the  other — of  dear  Helen  Car- 
stairs,  whose  card  I  found  on  the  hall  table 
when  I  went  in  after  leaving  you.  If  it 
hadn't  been  that  I  was  with  you,  I'd  have 
begrudged  missing  her  for  anybody's  sake. 
Of  course  the  stupid  servants  said  I  was  not 
at  home.  Now,  why  couldn't  they  have  shown 
her  into  the  garden,  and  then  she  could  have 
been  introduced  to  you,  and  how  nice  that 
would  have  been!  The  two  people  of  all 
others  I  most  admire,  and  shall  expect  and 


228  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

insist  upon  being  friends  with  each  other! 
Say,  John,  to  please  me  that  you  are  long- 
ing to  meet  Helen!  " 

"  Posey,"  began  Glynn,  and  his  voice  to 
his  own  ears  sounded  unnaturally  thin,  "  I 
have  been  waiting  a  chance  to  tell  you  that 
I  have  known  Miss  Carstairs;  that  I  ran 
upon  her  by  chance  at  the  Gare  de  Lyons 
yesterday,  just  as  the  train  for  the  South 
had  started.  That  we  were,  in  fact,  compan- 
ions in  the  same  compartment,  and  talked 
of  you  together,  more  than  once,  during  our 
day's  run." 

"  You!  Helen!  Wonders  will  never 
cease!  "  cried  the  girl  exultingly.  "  But," 
a  sobering  thought  seizing  hold  of  her,  "  how 
was  it  possible  you  never  mentioned  her  to  me 
in  a  single  one  of  your  letters  ?  ' 

"  Try  to  think  why,  Posey,"  the  young  man 
said  gravely,  as  they  paused  together  in  the 
hall  filled  with  dead  marbles  and  living  blos- 
soms of  the  Spring. 

"  It  was  Helen,  then,  Helen?  '  Her  eyes 
flamed  the  rest  of  the  sentence. 

"  Yes." 

"  Ah!  I  might  have  guessed  it.  And  I 
— was  vain  enough  and  rash  enough  to  think 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  229 

I  could  fill  her  place  to  you.  Poor,  dear 
John,  what  you  have  lost,  and  what  have  you 
got  instead?  " 

"  Far  more  than  I  merit  in  any  case,  dear. 
It  is  her  secret,  and,  but  that  I  dared  not  de- 
ceive you,  should  never  have  passed  my  lips. 
It  is  over,  Posey,  buried  forty  fathoms  deep. 
You  see,  now,  that  each  of  us  has  need  of 
charity  and  forbearance  with  the  other,  and 
you  must  set  me  an  example  of  kind  forgiv- 
ingness  for  all  I  have  done  or  left  undone  to- 
ward you." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  Mr.  Winstanley,  who, 
at  this  moment,  came  shuffling  out  from  the 
library  to  join  them,  "  you  are  late  for  lunch- 
eon, but  how  long  wouldn't  I  wait  to  see  you 
and  Posey  standing  there  together?  It's 
better  than  any  sun-bath  to  have  you  around, 
I  tell  you!  I  feel  years  younger  since  you 


came." 


"So  do  I,  father,"  said  Posey.  '  After 
this  I  am  going  to  wear  a  collar  with  a  little 
bell  and  a  leash,  and  let  John  lead  me  upon 
the  Croisette.  It  is  good  to  have  some  one  to 
be  will  and  conscience,  both,  for  me !  ' 

"  I'm  afraid  I've  spoiled  her  for  you,  just 
a  little,  John,"  added  her  father  wistfully. 


230  LATTER-DAY     SWEETHEARTS 

"  You  and  others,  perhaps.  But  such  as 
she  is,  she's  a  lot  too  good  for  me,  sir — or 
any  man.  All  the  same,  I  think  you'll  have 
to  be  giving  me  Posey  before  the  time  you 
fixed  for  our  probation.  We  are  young  and 
will  grow  together,  and  she'll  help  me  to  do 
big  work.  And  it  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Win- 
stanley,  that  she's  got  a  dose  of  this  Old 
World  at  the  start  that'll  make  her  willing 
to  settle  down  in  our  own  country." 

"  We'll  see,"  nodded  the  old  gentleman. 
And,  indeed,  the  idea  of  an  earlier  marriage 
chimed  in  with  his  own  notions.  Since  the 
wing  of  the  Angel  of  Death  had  brushed  so 
near  his  face  in  passing,  Herbert  Winstan- 
ley  often  thought  that  to  put  the  future  of 
his  impetuous  child  into  safe  hands  would 
give  him  a  happier  feeling  when  he  lay  down 
to  sleep  o'  nights. 

Thus  Miss  Bleecker  was  wiser  than  she 
knew,  in  predicting  a  matrimonial  conclu- 
sion to  the  Winstanley  winter  in  Cannes. 
When  she  and  Helen  accepted  Posey 's  in- 
vitation to  dine  with  them  "  to  meet  a  few 
friends  "  on  the  night  but  one  following  their 
arrival — an  invitation,  needless  to  say,  ac- 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  231 

cepted  by  Miss  Carstairs  with  perturbation 
of  spirit  and  the  feeling  that  she  was  walk- 
ing up  to  the  cannon's  mouth — things  seemed 
to  point  that  way.  They  found  Mr.  Win- 
stanley,  simple  and  gentle  as  ever,  standing 
to  receive  his  guests  in  the  drawing-room 
with  its  famous  tapestries,  surrounded  by 
gems  of  art  that  for  the  first  time  in  years 
had  emerged  from  their  Holland  cerements. 
The  stately  room  had  flowers  massed  in  its 
corners,  and  a  great  fire  of  logs  was  leaping 
under  a  carved  stone  mantelpiece  also  banked 
high  with  plants  and  blossoms.  At  her  fa- 
ther's right  hand  stood  Posey,  blushing  and 
dimpling  with  artless  pleasure  in  receiving 
her  friend  under  circumstances  so  radically 
different  from  those  in  which  they  had  met 
and  parted  a  few  months  before ;  but  in  dress 
and  bearing  so  perfectly  adapted  was  she  to 
her  luxurious  entourage,  that  Miss  Bleecker 
blinked  when  looking  upon  her,  and  refused 
to  believe  her  eyes.  And  on  Mr.  Winstan- 
ley's  other  side,  quiet,  grave,  a  little  pale,  but 
collected  and  fully  determined  to  maintain 
his  position  with  dignified  acceptance,  stood 
Glynn — as  handsome  and  bonny  a  lad  as  ever 
rejoiced  a  father's  heart,  Mr.  Winstanley 


232  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

was  saying  inside  his  own  warm  receptacle 
of  human  emotions. 

As  Helen's  eyes  met  John's  and  dropped 
away;  as  he  clasped  her  gloved  fingers,  mar- 
velling at  her  grace  and  distinction  in  the 
trailing  dinner  gown  of  pale  rose  satin  with- 
out frill  or  furbelow,  each  felt  that  this  oc- 
casion had  for  them  the  solemn  significance 
of  a  final  renunciation  of  their  love.  It  was 
as  if  she  were  standing  in  the  church  seeing 
Glynn  take  Posey  to  be  his  wife.  A  keen 
pang  of  shame  for  the  weakness  that  had 
overcome  her  on  their  journey  shot  through 
her  being.  Ah,  well!  Fate  had  been  too 
strong  for  her  then.  That  was  the  last,  the 
very  last — like  a  farewell  breathed  into  al- 
ready deadened  ears. 

Posey 's  attitude  toward  Helen  also  touched 
Miss  Carstairs  acutely.  That  there  was  in  it 
a  new  consciousness  she  felt  immediately. 
She  recognized  that  Glynn  must  have  eased 
his  honest  heart  of  its  burden  by  telling  his 
betrothed  of  his  former  love  for  her,  and 
felt  that  this  was  as  it  should  be,  if  Posey 
were  to  remain  her  friend.  It  was  not  ten- 
der apology,  or  loving  sympathy,  that  Posey 
showed,  nor  yet  bashful  consciousness  that 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  233 

she  had  in  some  way  taken  the  ground  from 
under  Helen's  feet,  but  an  exquisite  mixture 
of  all  these.  Her  high  spirits  had  for  the 
moment  deserted  her.  She  kept  close  to  her 
father's  side,  answered  Miss  Bleecker's  ful- 
some greetings  with  no  attempt  at  tart  or 
witty  answers,  and,  as  their  other  guests  came 
in,  proceeded  to  do  the  honors  as  if  "  born 
to  the  purple  "  (so  Miss  Bleecker  whispered 
to  John  Glynn). 

The  chaperon's  day  of  wonder  was  upon 
her,  while  the  room  rapidly  filled  with  a  com- 
pany of  people  distinguished  in  the  world's 
eye  of  their  winter  colony,  all  of  whom  bore 
themselves  toward  the  tenant  of  Reine  des 
Fees  and  his  youthful  chatelaine  with  the 
friendly  consideration  of  accustomed  inti- 
mates. To  each  of  the  new-comers,  Glynn  was 
presented  by  his  host;  without  special  an- 
nouncement, it  is  true,  yet  in  fashion  so  in- 
tentional that  there  was  no  mistaking  the 
attitude  in  which  he  stood  toward  father  and 
daughter.  As  they  presently  went  in  to  din- 
ner, in  a  salle  with  carved  panels  of  French 
walnut  and  great  lustres  of  Venetian  glass 
illuminating  its  four  corners,  to  gather 
around  a  table  that  left  nothing  for  fastidi- 


234  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

ous  taste  to  criticise,  Miss  Bleecker  wanted 
to  pinch  herself  upon  taking  off  her  gloves, 
to  feel  assured  that  she  was  not  in  a  dream. 
The  old  gentleman,  yonder,  well  turned  out 
by  a  good  valet,  in  appropriate  evening  clothes, 
seated  between  a  great  lady  of  France,  whose 
neck  was  wrapped  in  historic  pearls,  and  an 
Englishwoman  of  rank  and  exclusive  habit, 
could  he  be  the  little  old  man  of  shipboard, 
whom  Helen's  chaperon  had  despised  and 
derided  as  the  veriest  pretender  to  good  so- 
ciety ?  It  was  incredible !  And  the  strangest 
part  of  the  situation  in  old  Sally's  eyes  was 
that,  save  in  externals,  Herbert  Winstanley 
had  not  altered  in  any  particular  from  the 
shrewd  quiet  observer  of  the  game  of  life,  the 
mild  commentator  upon  the  ways  of  men  and 
women,  the  almost  childlike  recipient  of  cour- 
tesy and  kind  words,  whom  she  remembered 
with  amused  contempt. 

Such  as  he  was,  these  people  had  taken  him 
up  with  a  good-will  there  was  no  denying. 
Miss  Bleecker  had  the  pleasure  of  finding 
herself  at  table  told  off  to  an  old  beau  of 
nativity  American,  overlaid  with  years  of 
veneer  Continental,  who  seemed  to  find  satis- 
faction in  extolling  to  her  the  "  solid  "  success 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  235, 

of  the  Winstanleys;  the  girl's  extraordinary 
ease  in  presiding  over  this  banquet  of  state, 
and  the  good  luck  of  that  fellow  G-lynn,  whose 
significant  appearance  this  evening  was  evi- 
dently intended  to  put  all  of  Miss  Winstan- 
ley's  other  admirers  out  of  the  running. 

Old  Sally,  who  had  long  ago  learned  how  to 
trim  her  sails,  listened  with  bitterness,  and 
while  comforting  her  inner  woman  with  the 
long  succession  of  "  plats  "  and  wines  pre- 
sented at  her  elbow,  made  up  her  mind  that 
she  would  stray  over  to  Heine  des  Fees,  with- 
out Helen,  next  morning  (under  her  most  be- 
coming parasol),  with  the  hope  of  finding  Mr. 
Winstanley  engaged  in  taking  his  sun-bath  on 
the  terrace.  "  And,  if  I  only  get  my  chance," 
she  meditated,  "  trust  me  for  following  it  up." 
The  announcement,  by  cable  from  America 
that  day,  of  the  engagement  of  a  contemporary 
of  her  own,  long  abandoned  in  appearance  to 
celibate  joys,  to  marry  "  the  last  man  anyone 
would  have  expected  to  see  pick  her  up  " — a 
recent  widower  of  large  means  and  uncertain 
temper — accelerated  the  spinster's  thoughts 
and  lent  a  false  brilliancy  to  the  evening  that 
had  begun  for  her  so  dolefully. 

To  Helen  Carstairs,  naturally,  the  ordeal  of 


236  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

the  dinner  was  interminable.  Separated  from 
Glynn  by  a  wide  extent  of  flower-decorated 
table,  amid  which  candles  gleamed  softly,  and 
silver  lent  its  sheen  to  illuminate  beds  of 
maiden-hair  and  cyclamen,  she  dared  not  look 
in  his  direction.  All  of  her  efforts  were  given 
to  self-control.  The  man  who  took  her  in,  a 
handsome  blond  young  Russian,  with  all  the 
languages  of  earth  seemingly  at  his  disposal, 
decided  that  the  American  heiress  not  appro- 
priated at  this  feast  was  as  cold  as  the  snows 
of  his  own  Caucasus.  The  Roumanian  prince 
on  her  other  side  gave  her  up  also  as  a  person 
impossible  to  interest.  She  went  through  it 
like  an  automaton,  her  one  desire  to  see  Posey 
signal  to  the  lady  with  the  pearls  that  it  was 
time  to  arise  from  table. 

Lady  Campstown,  watching  this  little  drama 
of  every  day,  felt  worried  and  puzzled.  She 
had  never  given  up  the  idea  that  Clandonald 
had  cared  for  Miss  Carstairs,  and  was  only 
debarred  from  telling  her  so  from  his  pride 
of  poverty  and  the  clog  attached  to  his  career. 
Although  her  ladyship's  secret  heart  yearned 
over  Posey,  and  she  would  have  given  worlds 
to  see  Clan's  allegiance  transferred  to  her,  the 
American  rival  well  disposed  of  in  some  other 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  237 

way  (nature  not  settled  in  her  mind)  and 
Posey  becoming  a  member  of  their  family,  her 
very  own  to  cherish  through  life,  the  joyous 
regenerator  of  her  nephew's  hopes  and  for- 
tunes— she  now  felt  this  to  be  a  fairy  tale 
beyond  chance  of  reality.  Much  as  she  had 
talked  to  Posey  about  Clan  that  winter  (and 
one  must  have  experience  of  the  wealth  of  con- 
versation a  lonely  old  woman  lavishes  upon 
the  young,  strong,  vigorous  manhood  that 
belongs  to  her  and  has  gone  out  to  the  world, 
forsaking  her,  to  know  just  how  much  that 
was),  the  girl  had  never  in  return  given  her 
a  hint  of  interest  in  him  beyond  the  common. 
She  had  spoken  of  their  meeting  on  shipboard, 
had  acceded  to  Lady  Campstown's  appeals  for 
interest  in  the  chief  events  of  his  life,  but  had 
ventured  nothing  on  her  own  account. 

Slowly,  but  surely,  therefore,  Lady  Camps- 
town  had  seen  the  evanishment  of  this  hope, 
conceived  in  secret  and  brought  forth  in  fear, 
without  a  suggestion  of  it  having  been  con- 
signed to  Miss  Winstanley.  The  arrival  of  Mr. 
Glynn,  duly  presented  to  her  ladyship  in  form, 
had  shown  the  dowager  the  futility  of  her 
hopes.  The  engagement  with  Glynn  was  real, 
tangible,  not  a  boy-and-girl  fancy  that  might 


238  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

drift  into  smoke — it  was  undeniably  "  there  to 
stay." 

Lady  Campstown,  perhaps  unwillingly, 
could  not  withhold  from  Glynn  the  tribute  of 
admiration  his  manly  exterior,  his  fearless 
earnestness  of  character,  were  wont  to  extort 
from  strangers.  She  had  failed,  though,  to 
discern  in  Posey  any  of  the  usual  signs  and 
tokens  by  which  a  girl  takes  the  world  into  her 
confidence  concerning  her  joy  at  a  lover's  com- 
ing. She  marvelled  at  the  child's  matter-of- 
fact  demeanor,  her  off-hand  bonhommie,  her 
warm  spirit  of  comradeship  to  Glynn.  It  must 
be,  thought  the  old  lady,  a  little  put  out  by 
these  conditions,  which  were  not  according  to 
her  recollections  or  her  views,  "  that  is  the 
way  they  do  it  in  America !  ' 

Thus,  perforce  falling  back  upon  the  Helen 
Carstairs  idea  again,  that  young  lady's  arrival 
in  Cannes  had  seemed  little  short  of  Providen- 
tial. Clandonald  must,  according  to  his  prom- 
ises and  forecasts  of  travel,  be  shortly  in  the 
field.  There  was  no  question  that  he  had  once 
admitted  to  his  aunt  it  was  some  American 
lady  who  had  caused  the  trouble  from  Ruby 
shortly  after  his  return  to  Beaumanoir.  He 
had  been  vague,  elusive,  as  men  always  are  in 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  239 

telling  what  their  womenkind  want  to  know 
about  other  women ;  but  there  had  been  a  girl, 
an  American  girl;  Ruby  had  attacked  him 
through  this  girl,  he  had  paid  dearly  to  silence 
the  base  tormentor,  and  then,  in  an  access  of 
wounded  pride  and  disgust,  had  again  shaken 
the  dust  of  his  native  land  from  his  feet,  and 
journeyed  into  the  unknown.  Months  had 
passed,  long  enough  for  Clandonald's  angry 
feelings  to  subside.  He  must  soon  come  back 
to  Villa  Julia,  where  he  had  known  so  many 
happy  hours.  His  aunt  would  make  him  thor- 
oughly comfortable,  happy,  as  she  well  knew 
how  to  do.  She  would  go  slowly,  leaving 
Helen  and  himself  to  drift  together  again  in 
the  natural  order  of  such  things.  It  must,  it 
must  come  out  all  right! 

While  indulging  in  this  optimistic  thought 
for  the  twentieth  time  in  two  days,  Lady 
Campstown  had  happened  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  Helen's  face  between  two  candelabra.  It 
was  the  first  time  she  had  seen  it  in  repose 
since  the  young  lady's  visit  to  Beaumanoir, 
and  she  was  struck  with  an  increase  of  thought 
and  pain  in  the  rare,  fine  countenance.  At 
once  she  decided  that  Helen  was  fretting  after 
Clan,  and  her  warm  heart  bounded  with  sym- 


240  LATTER-DAT  SWEETHEARTS 

pathy.  She  went  up  to  Miss  Carstairs  when 
the  women  were  together  after  dinner  and 
spoke  to  her  cordially,  flatteringly.  Posey, 
from  where  she  sat  with  her  two  greatest 
ladies — tarrying  there,  however,  just  long 
enough  to  say  a  few  modest  words,  then  leav- 
ing them  to  what  they  desired,  conversation 
with  each  other — saw  the  talk  between  her  two 
friends,  and  longed  to  join  in  it.  Hastening 
upon  her  rounds  as  a  hostess,  she  in  due  time 
came  up  with  them. 

"  What  a  nice  time  you  two  dear  souls  are 
having!"  she  exclaimed.  "  And  how  I've 
wanted  to  be  with  you!  It  is  so  much  nicer 
always  to  be  with  the  few  one  loves  than  with 
the  many  one  merely  has  to  know." 

"  You  have  been  gleaning  golden  opinions, 
all  the  same,"  said  Helen.  "  Lady  Camps- 
town  has  been  telling  me  what  Princess  Z 

says  of  you  as  an  entertainer — that  you  were 
born,  not  made." 

"  I  reckon — no,  I  fancy  I  came  by  it  hon- 
estly," laughed  Posey.  "  I  always  enjoy  the 
things  we  give  so  much  more  than  those  we  go 
to." 

' '  I  am  asking  Miss  Carstairs  to  come  to  me 
to-morrow  for  luncheon,"  said  Lady  Camps- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  241 

town,  putting  with  loving  fingers  a  stray  bit 
of  Posey's  lace  in  place.  "  And  I  do  hope, 
dear,  you  haven't  promised  anybody  else." 

"  I'll  come,  surely,"  exclaimed  the  girl. 
"  Though  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  forsake 
daddy  and  John  these  few  days  we  have  to- 
gether. But  to  tell  you  the  mortifying  truth, 
they  are  continually  falling  knee-deep  into 
talks  of  which  I  can't  understand  a  thing. 
And  sometimes  I  slip  out  with  my  dogs,  and 
they  don't  even  know  that  I  have  gone." 

"  '  Slip  out '  to-morrow,  then,  at  1.30,  and 
bring  the  dogs,"  said  Lady  Campstown. 
"  But,  my  dear,  what  does  this  mean  that  I 
hear,  Mr.  Glynn  is  for  leaving  us  on  Thurs- 
day? " 

"  He's  going  to  catch  the  l  Kronprinz  '  at 
Cherbourg,  Saturday,  and  must  have  a  few 
hours  in  Paris.  It's  awfully  stupid,  I  tell 
him,  but  when  an  American  man  gets  hold  of 
a  scheme  that  spells  business  you  can  no  more 
induce  him  to  loose  hold  of  it  than  my  darling 
Maida  will  consent  to  give  up  a  particular  pet 
bone. ' ' 

"  But  he's  coming  back  very  soon,  they  tell 
me.  How  you  Americans  can  go  racing  back 
and  forth  across  the  Atlantic  as  you  do " 


242  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

"  Yes,  he's  coming  back  very  soon/'  said 
Posey,  faltering  a  little,  and  pulling  to  pieces 
a  superb  white  rose  with  purple-red  outside 
petals  that  hung  from  a  vase  on  the  console 
next  to  her.  "  I  may  as  well  tell  you  both, 
what  I  meant  to  do  to-morrow,  that  daddy  and 
he  decided  to-day  the  wedding's  to  come  off 
at  the  end  of  March.  John  will  accordingly 
rush  through  a  lot  of  things  in  New  York, 
tear  back  again,  probably  via  Genoa,  if  they 
put  on  one  of  the  fast  ships,  and  where  his 
trousseau's  to  come  in,  I  can't  imagine.  My 
own  will  take  every  minute  from  now  till  then, 
and  all  of  the  missionary  aid  you  two  dears 
choose  to  lend  me,  to  make  it  an  accomplished 
fact." 

"  You  can  count  upon  me  in  all  things," 
Helen  said  very  quietly. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  lamb,  and  you  ask  me  to  be 
glad  when  it  means  that  I've  got  to  lose  you," 
put  in  Lady  Campstown,  thinking  for  the  mo- 
ment honestly  about  herself,  and  thereby  cov- 
ering what  might  have  been  a  trying  pause 
to  both  girls.  A  servant,  presenting  a  tray  of 
coffee-cups  at  Lady  Campstown 's  side,  helped 
further  to  bridge  the  moment,  and  others  of 
Posey 's  guests  surrounding  her  with  chat  and 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  243 

laughter,  the  question  of  the  marriage  floated 
away  into  space.  Helen,  however,  took  it  back 
to  her  hotel  with  her,  wrestled  with  it  during 
sleepless  hours,  and  next  day,  to  stave  off  in- 
tolerable thought,  set  out  for  a  long  walk  alone. 

Whither  she  went  she  neither  cared  nor 
knew.  She  had  a  vague  remembrance  of  hav- 
ing passed  through  the  flower-market,  and 
being  set  upon  to  buy,  by  a  soft- voiced,  smiling 
woman  who  stood  behind  great  blurs  of  red  and 
yellow  and  white  and  purple,  shrined  in  ver- 
dure, from  which  luscious  scent  arose.  To  get 
rid  of  her,  she  had  paid  a  persistent  child  a 
franc  for  a  big  bunch  of  violets,  and  the  girl, 
with  a  saucy,  merry  face,  thrust  into  her  hand 
also  a  spray  of  orange  blossom.  Helen  threw 
this  last  away  impatiently.  Impossible  to  be 
rid  of  the  suggestions  of  that  wedding,  ten- 
fold more  abhorrent  to  her  now  that  she  had 
seen  for  herself  and  knew  beyond  a  peradven- 
ture  that  it  was  inspired  by  no  such  love  as  she 
and  John  had  felt  for  each  other  only  a  day  or 
two  before ;  such  love  as  she  must  feel  for  him, 
God  help  her,  till  she  died. 

She  walked  on  through  the  town,  far  into 
the  outskirts,  till  seeing  a  sign  of  "  New  Milk  " 
upon  a  chalet  near  the  road  made  her  suddenly 


244  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

remember  she  had  set  out  without  even  her 
morning  coffee.  Going  inside  the  building,  she 
sat  for  a  few  moments  at  a  table  while  a  woman 
served  her  with  rolls  and  a  glass  of  milk,  and 
then,  starting  forth  again,  was  vaguely 
tempted  to  ascend  a  hillside  which  rose 
abruptly  above  the  spot,  crowned  with  a  noble 
growth  of  trees. 

Helen  had  no  sooner  gained  the  smooth 
plateau  of  the  summit  than  she  remembered 
where  she  was.  Long  ago,  as  a  child,  in  charge 
of  her  English  governess,  journeying  from  the 
Italian  seashore  to  join  her  father  at  Mar- 
seilles, they  had  stopped  over  for  a  midsummer 
fete  at  Mont  St.  Cassien,  where,  in  blazing 
heat,  the  Cannois  and  their  rustic  neighbors 
from  miles  around  had  fulfilled  an  old  custom 
of  Provence  in  holding  service  at  a  little  chapel 
on  this  hill,  the  remainder  of  the  day  and  even- 
ing being  spent  in  feasting  at  tables  spread  on 
the  slopes  and  in  the  green  valley  below.  She 
could  shut  her  eyes  and  see  again  the  lights 
gleaming  around  the  tables,  as  the  hot  dark- 
ness fell,  the  gay  costumes,  and  the  chain  of 
dancers  threading  its  way  among  the  trees. 

The  grass  was  growing  wild  and  coarse 
where  she  followed  a  shaded  path  to  the  little 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  245 

hut  in  which  a  holy  hermit  had  once  lived  and 
died.  A  peasant  woman  in  the  kitchen  of  the 
hermitage  was  cooking  something  in  a  cas- 
serole over  a  tiny  fire,  but  she  left  it  civilly  to 
conduct  the  stranger  through  to  the  chapel 
adjoining.  A  girl  grown  to  woman's  height, 
but,  alas,  a  child  in  intellect,  began  pulling  and 
tugging  at  her  mother's  gown,  asking  witless 
questions  and  being  repeatedly,  but  tenderly, 
thrust  aside  by  the  woman,  and  told  to  stay  in 
her  own  place. 

Helen  hardly  knew  why  she  had  acceded 
to  the  woman's  suggestion  that  she  should  visit 
the  uninteresting  sanctuary,  with  its  cheap 
emblems  and  smell  of  stale  incense,  and  deco- 
rations of  paper  flowers. 

But  she  understood,  when  through  the  now 
opened  front  door  a  gentleman  stepped  from 
broad  sunshine  into  the  chill  interior,  appar- 
ently as  aimless  as  herself,  and  came  up  to  her 
side. 

"  Helen!    You  are  alone?  " 

' '  You  here  1  '  she  answered  under  her 
breath.  "  When  I  have  come  all  this  dis- 
tance to  be  away  from  you!  ' 

"It  is  the  same  with  me,  Helen,"  Glynn 
said  in  a  sombre  voice.  "  I  have  wandered 


246  LATTEK-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

and  wandered  up  here  for  no  reason  in  par- 
ticular, trying  to  believe  you  are  not  in 
Cannes,  trying  to  master  my  ungovernable 
desire  to  be  with  you  only  once  again." 

"  It  is  all  of  a  piece  with  our  being  thrust 
together  that  day  upon  the  train,"  she  cried 
impetuously.  "  What  have  we  done  that  such 
things  should  be  forced  upon  us?  ' 

"  Come  out  at  least  into  the  sunshine,"  he 
said,  taking  her  cold  hand.  "  You  will  be 
chilled  in  this  dreary  place." 

Giving  a  douceur  to  the  poor  guardian  of 
the  premises,  they  went  together  to  a  point  of 
the  hillside  whereon  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree 
offered  a  semblance  of  a  seat. 

Helen,  actually  nerveless,  dropped  upon  it, 
Glynn  standing  beside  her,  neither  daring  to 
speak  first. 

"  You  know  that  I  am  leaving  to-morrow?  ' 
he  asked  finally. 

"  Posey  told  me  so  last  night,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"  She  told  you  what  was  to  follow  my  re- 
turn at  the  end  of  March?  ' 

"  Yes." 

"  The  question  is,  Am  I  a  man  of  honor  or 
a  scoundrel?  "  he  went  on  with  a  frowning 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  247 

brow.  "  I  have  thought  of  it  so  long,  so  in- 
tensely, that  my  judgment  has  ceased  to  act. 
Helen,  you  have  the  clearest  mind,  the  most 
well-balanced  conscience  I  ever  knew " 

"  You  can  say  that,  when  I  was  so  false  to 
myself  and  you  as  to  let  you  go  that  time  in 
New  York,  before  all  these  complications  came 
upon  us?  '  she  interrupted  him  bitterly. 
' '  But  there,  what  is  the  use  ?  We  have  parted, 
there  is  no  hope,  let  us  never  speak  of  our- 
selves together  again.  If  it  is  your  duty  to 
Posey,  to  her  father,  that  torments  you ;  I  bid 
you  keep  your  pledge.  It  is  impossible  that 
you  should  now  make  any  motion  to  withdraw 
from  it.  The  one  terrible  thing  to  me  was 
that  we  should  all  go  on  and  Poesy  have  no 
idea  what  you  and  I  once  were  to  each 
other "  * 

"  Nobody  could  know  that,"  the  man  said 
sturdily.  Helen  shivered. 

"  But  you  have  relieved  me  of  that  fear," 
she  hurried  on.  "  I  saw  at  once,  last  night, 

that  you  had  told  her " 

"  Only  that  you  were  the  woman  I  had 
loved  before  plighting  myself  to  her.  She 
knows  nothing  of  the  circumstances  of  our 


248  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

acquaintance.  That  is  my  secret,  mine  only, 
to  be  treasured  till  I  die." 

"  She  knows  enough,  however,  to  make  clear 
the  way  between  us,"  Helen  made  further 
haste  to  say.  "  If  you  are  kind  now,  you  will 
end  this  conversation  that  ought  never  to  have 
begun.  I  shall  be  leaving  Cannes  shortly.  My 
father  is  coming  for  me  in  his  yacht.  Before 
I  see  you  again  you  will  have  in  your  keeping 
the  happiness,  the  trust,  of  one — no,  two,  of 
the  kindest,  most  confiding  creatures  God  ever 
made.  Never  think  that  it  is  I  who  could  try 
and  weaken  you  at  the  outset  of  such  a  task. 
If  necessary,  rather  let  Posey  think  that  I 
have  grown  cold  to  her  than  run  the  risk  of 
such  a  re-awakening  of  old  feeling  as  we  two 
have  innocently  suffered  from  to-day." 

Her  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper.  Violet 
tshadows  had  formed  under  her  eyes,  the  lines 
around  her  mouth  had  deepened  painfully. 
But  when  she  looked  at  him  full  in  the  eyes, 
he  knew  there  would  be  no  more  weakening 
in  his  direction.  Presently  she  arose,  and 
they  walked  together  to  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
where  Helen  hailed  a  passing  carriage  and 
asked  him  to  put  her  in  it.  A  moment  more, 
and  Glynn  was  indeed  alone. 


LATTEE-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  249 

As  he  walked  rapidly  homeward,  he  forced 
his  mind  away  from  the  overpowering  interest 
of  this  last  chance  interview  to  dwell  upon 
minor  things,  among  which  he  was  inclined  to 
classify  even  the  settling  of  the  affair  with 
Posey's  tormentor,  Mrs.  Darien.  He  had,  ac- 
cording to  his  engagement  with  that  lady,  gone 
over  to  Nice  by  an  early  train  the  day  follow- 
ing their  interview  in  the  garden.  He  had 
found  her  in  the  melancholy  splendors  of  a 
saloon  bedroom  in  a  cheap  hotel,  with  a  screen 
half  encircling  an  untidy  couch,  a  dressing- 
table  littered  with  strange  scents  and  unguents, 
shabby  finery  hanging  upon  hooks,  and  a 
chaise  longue  of  rusty  plush  drawn  up  before 
a  writing-table  containing,  in  addition  to  its 
blotter  and  inkstand,  a  case  of  liqueurs  and 
glasses. 

Mrs.  Darien,  for  which  he  yielded  her  credit, 
made  no  attempt  to  apologize  for  her  poor 
surroundings.  She  received  her  visitor  with 
astonishing  ease  and  vivacity;  talked  rapidly 
and  cleverly  of  contemporaneous  topics,  and 
when  he  came,  without  overmuch  delay,  to  the 
point  of  the  business  that  brought  him,  treated 
Mr.  Glynn  in  a  semi-coquettish,  rallying 
spirit,  as  though  he  were  proposing  to  her  a 


250  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

very  good  joke.  She  closed  upon  his  offer 
like  a  vice,  however,  and  affixed  her  name  to 
the  paper  forfeiting  the  liberal  allowance  he 
had  decided  to  make  her  should  she  be  again 
heard  of  as  molesting  Miss  Winstanley  with 
an  eager,  trembling  hand.  Glynn  had  de- 
cided, as  he  walked  away  from  her  into  purer 
air,  that  drink  or  morphia,  or  both,  were  driv- 
ing the  ex-Lady  Clandonald  to  an  end  at  a 
fearful  rate  of  speed.  He  had  paid  high  for 
this  visit  to  Nice,  but  it  counted  as  nothing 
provided  she  left  Mr.  Winstanley 's  little  ewe 
lamb  in  peace. 


The  two  girls  met  at  luncheon  at  Lady 
Campstown's,  who  had  spent  the  morning  in 
letting  Posey  experiment  upon  her  nerves 
in  the  Winstanley 's  automobile.  Posey  felt 
proud  indeed  of  this  success,  when  she  brought 
home  the  dowager  (at  the  utmost  limit  of 
speed  disallowed  by  law),  thrilled  and  en- 
chanted, after  beginning  her  expedition  with 
closed  eyes  and  a  prayer  upon  her  lips.  Mr. 
Winstanley,  who  had  long  since  abandoned 
himself  to  sharing  risks  with  his  girl,  sat  be- 
side his  guest,  exhibiting  to  the  public  the  ex- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  251 

terior  of  a  diver  for  pearls  combined  with  a 
hippopotamus. 

Flushed  by  conquest,  Posey  had  recovered 
her  buoyant  spirits,  and  their  meal  was  en- 
livened by  her  old  daring  sallies.  She  even 
ventured,  in  the  welcome  absence  of  Miss 
Bleecker,  upon  introducing  an  imitation  of 
that  lady,  in  an  entanglement  of  eye-glasses, 
trying  to  read  the  dinner  menu  at  sea.  Lady 
Campstown,  who  thought  less  of  Miss 
Bleecker  than  she  had  before  seeing  her  re- 
cent barefaced  designs  upon  Mr.  Winstanley, 
enjoyed  this  very  much ;  but  Posey  confessed 
it  had  not  been  a  success  at  home,  owing  to 
Mr.  Winstanley  not  relishing  satire  directed 
toward  acquaintances,  and  considering  Miss 
Bleecker,  on  the  whole,  "  a  very  polite  and 
agreeable  lady." 

When  Posey  separated  from  Helen  after 
lunch  she  felt  that  a  little  frost  had  fallen 
upon  their  friendship.  She  instinctively  real- 
ized that  things  could  not  be  between  them 
what  they  were  before  Glynn  had  owned  to 
her  he  had  first  loved  Helen.  Something  told 
her  that  it  needed  time  to  smooth  over  a  situa- 
tion like  their  own.  After  John  left  on  the 
morrow  she  would,  perhaps,  see  dear  Helen 
with  a  lighter  heart. 


CHAPTER   IX 

MR.  GLYNN  had  sailed  away  again,  and 
preparations  for  the  wedding  had  already  be- 
gun to  absorb  Miss  Winstanley.  She  had  been 
gone  for  a  week  in  Paris  with  Lady  Camps- 
town  when  Mr.  Carstairs'  yacht,  the  "  Sans 
Peur,"  made  its  appearance  in  the  harbor. 
Previous  to  this,  it  may  be  told,  Miss  Bleecker 
had  privately  received  and  cashed  a  draft 
upon  her  bankers  that  had  put  the  chaperon 
in  unprecedented  funds  and  spirits.  She  had 
received  also  a  telegram  of  instructions  from 
Mrs.  Carstairs,  at  Gibraltar,  directing  her  to 
engage  for  their  party  a  suite  of  costly  apart- 
ments at  the  Grand  Hotel.  Full  of  impor- 
tance, she  swelled  here,  there  and  everywhere, 
detailing  to  all  ears  the  grandeur  and  impor- 
tance of  her  employers,  and  basking  in  the  rays 
of  glory  they  sent  before  them.  She  needed 
a  little  cheering  at  this  time,  since  Mr.  Win- 
stanley had  remained  inflexible,  declining  her 
offers  to  bear  him  company  on  his  terrace,  and 
treating  her  persistently  as  a  worthy  elderly 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  253 

person,  beyond  the  pale  of  pleasures  that  do 
not  belong  to  the  late  afternoon  of  life. 

For  Helen  the  days  preceding  the  arrival 
of  the  "  Sans  Peur  "  were  profoundly  sad 
ones.  Putting  aside  her  feelings  upon  another 
theme,  her  dread  of  reunion  with  Mrs.  Car- 
stairs  robbed  her  of  all  joy  in  her  dear  father's 
coming.  In  vain  Miss  Bleecker  drummed  into 
her  ears  how  nobler  far  it  is  to  give  than  to 
receive,  how  a  self-sacrifice  like  hers  would 
bring  its  own  reward,  how  Helen  was  destined 
to  be  the  blessed  medium  through  whom  joy 
and  harmony  would  descend  upon  the  Car- 
stairs  family  for  evermore. 

If  a  faint — ever  so  faint — hope  survived  in 
Helen's  mind  that  her  stepmother's  specious 
assurances  of  good-will  to  her  and  devotion 
to  her  father  were  to  be  credited,  this  faded 
upon  her  first  visit  to  the  yacht.  In  the  cabin 
where  she  herself  had  once  reigned  as  queen 
she  found  Mrs.  Carstairs,  coarsened,  indefin- 
ably repellant,  although  still  superb  in  bloom 
and  with  a  Rubens  lady's  plenitude  of  phy- 
sique. Around  her  were  grouped  two  or  three 
men,  making  up  the  party  of  which  Helen  was 
expected  to  be  the  bulwark  of  respectability. 
One  of  them,  a  Mr.  Danielson,  Helen  disliked 


254  LATTER-DAT  SWEETHEARTS 

promptly  and  instinctively;  none  would  she 
have  admitted  into  the  circle  of  her  acquaint- 
ances at  home.  When  Mr.  Carstairs,  after 
some  delay,  made  his  appearance,  Helen  was 
shocked  beyond  measure  to  behold  in  him  a 
mere  weary  wraith,  beside  whom  his  wife 
seemed  to  flaunt  her  beauty  and  splendid 
health  with  insolence.  His  greeting  of  his 
daughter  was  indifferent,  abstracted.  She 
found  it  impossible  to  have  a  word  alone  with 
him.  The  thought  of  the  cruise  before  her 
lay  like  ice  on  Helen's  heart. 

Before  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carstairs  had  spent 
a  week  in  Cannes  the  lady  declared  it  to  be  a 
poky  hole  and  wished  she  had  gone  to  Nice. 
To  Nice  they  accordingly  repaired,  and  in  due 
course  of  time  sailed  for  Naples.  While  Mrs. 
Carstairs  rattled  and  joked  noisily  with  her 
other  guests,  she  reserved  for  the  handsome 
cad  at  whom  Helen  had  taken  special  umbrage 
a  reserve  of  manner  more  suspicious  to  an 
interested  looker-on.  To  Helen,  a  petty 
agony  of  the  cruise  was  that  Mr.  Danielson 
should  conceive  himself  obliged  to  devote  most 
of  his  leisure  hours  to  attendance  upon  the 
owner's  daughter,  refusing  with  fatuous  per- 
sistency to  be  shaken  off.  A  few  brief  scorn- 


LATTEK-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  255 

ful  words  of  remonstrance  on  this  subject, 
addressed  to  her  stepmother,  were  met  by  the 
laughing  assurance  that  there  was  really 
nothing  for  Helen  to  apprehend,  and  that  a 
man  so  universally  run  after  as  was  Mr. 
Danielson,  by  what  Mrs.  Carstairs  called  the 
"  fair  sex,"  must  meet  the  risk  of  having  his 
casual  attentions  misinterpreted  at  times. 

Proud,  wounded,  scornful,  feeling  that  her 
standard  of  life  had  dropped  to  an  unendur- 
able point,  Helen  got  into  the  habit  of  keep- 
ing to  herself  as  much  as  practicable.  At 
Naples  she  would  take  her  own  maid  and 
absent  herself  for  hours  from  the  yacht  and 
its  dubious  company.  To  her  father  there 
was  actually  no  chance  of  being  what  she  had 
hoped.  He  was  mostly  captious,  preferring 
to  be  left  alone  when  his  wife  did  not  vouch- 
safe him  her  companionship — which  was  now 
a  rare  event.  The  great  Mr.  Carstairs  was, 
indeed,  socially  a  cipher  among  these  half- 
breeds,  who  drank  his  wines  and  allowed  him 
to  pay  their  expenses  of  travel. 

Miss  Bleecker,  under  the  infatuation  of 
Mrs.  Carstairs'  liberal  money-spending,  of 
their  luxurious  living  and  continual  seeking 
of  pleasure  and  excitement  in  which  she  was 


256  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

included  when,  as  usual,  Helen  refused  to  go 
— beqame  as  a  broken  reed  in  support  of  her 
charge's  movements.  Poor  old  Eulalie,  with 
some  sense  of  the  loss  of  refined  surround- 
ings they  had  sustained,  and  a  hearty  dislike 
of  the  imperative  chaperon,  ranged  herself 
exclusively  upon  the  side  of  her  young  lady — 
refusing  to  fraternize  with  Mrs.  Carstairs' 
maid,  whom  she  regarded  as  a  second-rate 
creature  in  every  way,  and  going  through  the 
routine  of  life  in  general  with  a  dogged  deter- 
mination to  endure  unto  the  end. 

A  day  came  at  last  when  Miss  Carstairs 
went  out  to  Pompeii  with  her  maid,  instead  of 
to  the  museum  in  Naples,  where  she  had  an- 
nounced her  intention  of  spending  the  after- 
noon. 

She  left  Eulalie  sitting  upon  an  immemo- 
rial stone  and  wandered  off  alone  through  the 
beautiful  sad  place.  To  the  guardian,  who 
would  fain  have  followed  her,  she  gave  a 
piece  of  money  and  a  gracious  smile,  explain- 
ing that  she  knew  it  all  by  heart,  and  wanted 
only  to  gain  a  general  impression  of  the  dead 
city  on  that  day  of  radiant  spring.  She  had 
been  standing  for  some  time  near  the  tomb  of 
Mamia,  looking  out  over  the  bay  and  moun- 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  257 

tains  of  Castellamare  melting  together  in  sun- 
shine, and,  recalled  to  the  present  by  the  late- 
ness of  the  hour,  started  to  walk  back  to  where 
she  had  left  the  monumental  Eulalie. 

Her  resolution  to  leave  the  yacht,  to  aban- 
don the  party,  and  if  needs  be  to  forfeit  all 
that  her  acquiescence  had  secured  for  her, 
was  now  definitely  taken.  To  avoid  discus- 
sion, she  would  simply  ask  her  father  to  allow 
Miss  Bleecker  and  herself  to  go  up  to  Rome, 
where  Mr.  Carstairs  could  never  abide  visit- 
ing, on  the  ground  that  he  did  not  like  living 
over  catacombs  and  being  face  to  face  with 
so  many  things  already  done  for.  He  knew 
Helen's  tender  passion  for  the  Imperial  City, 
and  might  excuse  her  from  going  on  with 
them  to  Sicily. 

From  Miss  Bleecker  she  felt  sure  of  meet- 
ing fierce  and  stubborn  resistance  to  her  plan. 
The  dream  of  Miss  Bleecker 's  life  had  been 
a  cruise  in  the '  '  Sans  Peur,  - '  and  it  was  hardly 
to  be  supposed  she  would  easily  relinquish  it. 
But  Helen  felt  that  upon  occasion  she  could 
be  stubborn  too.  Any  clash  of  wills,  and  sub- 
sequent victory  for  her,  was  worth  under- 
taking, to  rid  her  of  the  offensive  companion- 
ship of  Mrs.  Carstairs — and  one  other. 


258  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

She  could  not  be  sure  of  what  she  suspected 
between  them.  She  scorned  to  make  herself 
assured.  She  could  not  stoop  to  the  miser- 
able method  necessary  to  the  acquirement  of 
dread  certainty.  And  yet  "  she  was  walking 
every  day  with  bare  feet  on  a  burning  pave- 
ment without  feeling  the  burn." 

Passing  with  noiseless  step  before  a  house- 
wall  arising  like  a  screen  before  her  path,  she 
paused  for  a  moment  to  enjoy  one  last  gaze 
at  the  pageant  of  sea  and  sky  in  the  light  of 
waning  day.  In  this  brief  time  the  sound  of 
her  own  name  spoken  by  low  voices  behind 
the  ruined  wall  forced  themselves  upon  her 
hearing.  They  were  those  of  her  stepmother 
and  the  man  Danielson. 

Two  phrases  interchanged,  but  they  told 
Helen  all.  She  could  never  again  indulge  in 
the  misery  of  doubt. 

She  stood  for  an  instant  as  if  overtaken 
by  the  lava  flow  that  had  devastated  the  homes 
of  seventeen  centuries  ago  surrounding  her. 
The  one  despairing,  driving  impulse  was  to 
steal  away  unseen  by  the  woman  who  dis- 
honored her  dear  father's  name.  Helen 
thought  she  had  rather  fall  down  and  die  and 
become  embedded  with  the  dust  of  ages  than 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  259 

go  back  to  face  Mrs.  Carstairs  and  let  her 
know  she  had  found  her  out. 

As  the  couple,  without  discovering  her 
neighborhood,  moved  in  an  opposite  direc- 
tion, Mr.  Carstairs'  daughter  took  wings  to 
her  feet  and  flew  to  pick  up  Eulalie  and  find 
the  cab  they  had  left  before  the  Hotel  Diomed. 
The  maid,  sluggish  though  were  the  workings 
of  her  mental  part,  saw  that  her  mistress  had 
had  a  fright,  and  blamed  herself  for  losing 
sight  of  her.  Helen's  cheeks  were  white,  her 
hands  shook  as  though  palsied,  as  she  sprang 
into  the  cab  and  bade  the  man  drive  fast,  fast, 
back  toward  the  town.  She  wished,  at  all 
events,  to  avoid  being  caught  up  with  or 
passed  by  the  pair,  who  could  not  at  that  hour 
linger  much  longer  within  the  enclosure. 

During  the  long  joggling  drive  through  in- 
terminable stony  streets,  encumbered  by  the 
populace  of  the  Neapolitan  suburbs,  perform- 
ing their  domestic  avocations  out  of  doors, 
she  came  to  a  desperate  conclusion.  She  was 
of  age  sufficiently  mature  to  act  for  herself. 
She  could  not,  would  not,  give  her  reasons  to 
her  father.  But  she  would  carry  out  her  re- 
cent determination  to  leave  the  yacht  at  once, 
forfeit  the  price  that  had  been  paid  her  to  be 


260  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

an  infamous  blind,  and,  at  any  risk,  sever  her 
present  connection  with  Mrs.  Carstairs. 

Helen  possessed  the  American  woman's 
promptitude  in  action.  She  drove  with  Eu- 
lalie  to  an  hotel  formerly  frequented  with  her 
father,  engaged  a  room  for  the  night,  and 
sent  the  maid  to  the  yacht  with  a  note  re- 
questing Miss  Bleecker  to  come  to  her.  The 
interview  resulting  with  her  estimable  chap- 
eron was  perhaps  one  of  the  most  painful  of 
her  experience.  The  lady,  to  whom  she  gave 
in  explanation  of  her  resolve  a  bare  state- 
ment that  she  could  no  longer  endure  the  trial 
of  life  with  her  stepmother,  exhausted  her- 
self in  remonstrance  and  reproach.  She 
pointed  out  to  Helen  that  the  money  from  her 
father  could  still  be,  and  no  doubt  would  be, 
withdrawn  upon  announcement  of  Miss  Car- 
stairs'  extraordinary  move.  Helen  declared 
that,  well  aware  of  this  fact,  she  was  prepared 
to  live  on  the  small  income  coming  to  her  from 
her  mother's  estate.  Miss  Bleecker  reminded 
her  that  her  father  was  in  evidently  wretched 
health,  and  that  no  whim  or  temper  should 
stand  between  him  and  his  daughter's  at- 
tendance at  his  side.  Helen,  blushing  scarlet, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  recalled  to  Miss 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  261 

Bleecker  that  she  had  not  been  allowed  ac- 
cess to  her  father's  own  cabin  since  they  had 
been  together  on  the  cruise,  and  that,  fur- 
thermore, he  did  not  appear  to  want  her.  Miss 
Bleecker  called  Heaven  to  witness  that  she 
had  no  patience  with  family  jars,  had  no  axe 
to  grind  on  her  own  account,  but  that  if  Helen 
persisted  in  her  wilful  determination  she 
should  feel  it  her  bounden  duty  not  to  for- 
sake poor  Mrs.  Carstairs  if  wanted  to  remain. 

That  evening,  between  nine  and  ten,  Mrs. 
Carstairs  called  upon  Miss  Carstairs,  but  was 
not  received.  Helen  sent  back,  in  a  hotel  en- 
velope, her  stepmother's  card,  across  which 
she  had  written  these  words: 

"  I  happened  to  be  at  Pompeii  this  after- 
noon, but  no  other  than  myself  shall  know 
under  what  circumstances  you  also  were  there. 
It  is  enough  that  we  must  part." 

Next  day  Mrs.  Carstairs  announced  to  her 
guests  that  they  were  sailing  for  Sicily,  and 
as  Miss  Carstairs  did  not  desire  to  go  farther 
South,  she  had  decided  to  return  by  train  to 
the  Riviera,  to  visit  her  friend,  Miss  Win- 
stanley,  at  Cannes, and  would  rejoin  the  "  Sans 
Peur  "  later,  somewhere  in  the  Mediterra- 


262  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

nean.  Then  the  "  Sans  Peur  "  steamed  gal- 
lantly away,  bearing  Miss  Bleecker,  now  in- 
stalled as  companion  to  the  owner's  lady,  and 
Mr.  Carstairs,  keeping  his  cabin,  it  was  said, 
with  a  bad  attack  of  some  trouble  undeclared. 
The  same  evening,  as  Helen  was  about  tak- 
ing her  train  for  Genoa  and  the  Riviera  at 
the  Stazione  Centrale,  she  met,  face  to  face 
on  the  platform,  Lord  Clandonald  and  M.  de 
Mariol,  returning  by  way  of  Corfu,  Brindisi 
and  Naples  from  the  Peloponnesus,  where 
they  had  finally  brought  up  after  their  ramble 
in  Eastern  Europe.  The  two  men  greeted  her 
with  cordial  courtesy,  receiving  in  sum  the 
explanation  of  her  presence  made  public  by 
Mrs.  Carstairs.  Mariol,  from  whom  she 
shrank  a  little,  in  the  fear  that  he  might  re- 
member against  her  with  rancor  the  refusal 
of  his  addresses,  showed  no  consciousness  that 
this  episode  had  occurred  between  them.  He 
was  his  old  self,  gentle,  sympathetic,  with  an 
exquisite  intelligence  in  dealing  with  her  such 
as  no  other  man  had  exhibited.  He  saw  her 
into  her  own  compartment  with  her  maid,  and 
before  bedtime  returned  there  several  times, 
to  take  the  seat  vacated  by  Mile.  Eulalie,  who 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  263 

had  carried  her  accustomed  headache  to  an 
open  window  in  the  corridor. 

Before  they  had  talked  ten  minutes  Helen 
realized  that  her  great  crisis  was  understood 
and  felt  by  him.  In  her  overstrained  and 
overburdened  state  the  relief  of  finding  a  soul 
in  tune  with  her  desolate  one  was  infinite.  She 
let  him  know  just  as  much  as  was  necessary 
of  the  impelling  cause  of  her  action,  and  also 
that  in  accepting  Miss  Winstanley's  invita- 
tion in  a  recent  letter  to  return  to  Cannes,  "  if 
only  to  see  the  spring  flowers, ' '  she  was  doing 
so  until  she  could  make  up  her  mind  just  how 
to  readjust  her  life  to  altered  circumstances. 

M.  de  Mariol  said  little,  but  thought  much, 
after  he  had  left  Miss  Carstairs  for  the  night. 
Clandonald  had  come  once  to  look  after  both 
of  them,  and  their  talk  had  turned  into  cheer- 
ful channels.  Both  men  were  brown  and 
healthy  and  in  good  spirits,  Mariol  on  his  way 
to  Paris,  Clandonald  to  Cannes,  to  visit  his 
good  aunt.  They  touched  upon  the  subject  of 
the  Winstanleys'  rise  into  fortune  and  worldly 
vogue,  Clandonald  saying  that  Lady  Camps- 
town  had  written  him  of  Miss  Winstanley's 
approaching  marriage  with  Mr.  Glynn.  In 
his  frank,  untroubled  face  Helen  failed  to  dis- 


264  LATTEK-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

cern  any  symptom  of  corroding  care,  and  once 
more  she  registered  an  experience  of  the  brev- 
ity of  men's  attachments  when  their  object  is 
removed. 

During  the  day's  journey  that  followed, 
dashing  in  and  out  of  tunnels,  catching 
glimpses  of  Paradise  cut  short  by  the  black- 
ness of  the  Inferno — or,  as  some  one  has  aptly 
said,  "  Travelling  through  a  flute  and  seeing 
daylight  through  its  stops  " — M.  de  Mariol 
absorbed  the  chief  part  of  Miss  Carstairs' 
society,  putting  forth  for  her  the  best  of  his 
rare  powers  of  charm  and  companionship. 
When  Clandonald  and  herself  finally  left  the 
train  at  Cannes,  and  Mariol  went  on  his  way 
Paris-wards,  Helen  breathed  a  genuine  sigh 
of  regret  for  a  void  not  to  be  filled. 

The  welcome  she  received  from  the  Win- 
stanleys  went  far  toward  reconciling  Miss 
Carstairs  to  the  necessity  for  a  continuance 
of  interest  in  human  existence.  Those  warm 
and  simple-hearted  people,  refusing  to  allow 
her  to  stop  at  an  hotel  alone  with  her  maid, 
opened  their  home  to  her  with  rejoicing  hos- 
pitality. Nothing  that  she  had  ever  seen  of 
a  kindred  nature  seemed  to  her  as  broad  and 
warm  as  their  delight  in  offering  her  a  shelter. 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  265 

Posey's  quick  wit  divined  that  a  terrible  break 
had  occurred  between  Helen  and  her  father's 
party;  her  delicacy  withheld  all  questions  as 
to  its  cause.  It  was  enough  that  Helen  Car- 
stairs,  to  whom  she  had  looked  up  with  the 
veneration  of  a  devotee  on  his  knees  before 
his  shrine,  had  come  upon  a  time  of  sorrow, 
of  disillusion,  of  deep  and  lasting  despond- 
ency, and  that  it  was  Posey's  privilege  to  af- 
ford her  protection  and  sympathy  until  the 
dark  hour  was  past.  It  never  entered  into  her 
generous  nature  to  draw  the  contrast  between 
the  days,  not  so  long  past,  when  Helen  had 
kept  her  at  arm's-length,  and  she  was  the 
outsider.  Nothing  that  she  could  do  was  too 
much  to  cheer  Helen,  to  make  her  feel  one  of 
their  innermost  circle  of  home,  more  than  a 
welcome,  a  cherished  guest. 

In  this  atmosphere  of  tender  prevenance 
Helen's  bruised  spirit  quickly  recuperated. 
She  did  not  relax  in  her  intention  to  make  a 
small  independent  home  for  herself  some- 
where, a  condition  of  things  her  father's  con- 
tinued silence  seemed  to  bring  ominously  near. 
She  had  no  illusions  as  to  the  fact  that  Mrs. 
Carstairs  had  represented  her  conduct  to  her 
father  in  the  most  unfavorable,  unpardonable 


266  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

light.  A  little  while  she  would  remain  as  the 
Winstanleys'  guest,  then  would  tell  Posey 
that  she  had  found  it  obligatory  to  shift  for 
herself  and  to  live  upon  far  less  than  she  had 
ever  done  before. 

The  means  of  escape  from  her  impasse  came 
to  Miss  Carstairs  from  an  unexpected  quar- 
ter. Three  days  after  her  arrival  at  Reine  des 
Fees,  while  sitting  with  Posey  in  the  orange 
walk,  a  letter  was  handed  her  addressed  in 
M.  de  Mariol's  handwriting. 

Helen  blushed  violently,  then  grew  pale,  as 
she  laid  it  aside  to  read  in  private.  She  felt 
that  it  must  contain  a  renewal  of  his  former 
offer  of  marriage,  and  this  time  the  old  feeling 
of  unfitness  was  lacking.  She  was  conscious 
only  of  the  great  unselfishness  and  generosity 
which  this  man  of  intellectual  distinction  and 
wide  renown  had  always  shown  to  her.  She 
could  see  now  that  life  is  possible  without 
either  the  thrills  of  young  passion  or  the  costly 
material  pleasures  that  wealth  provides.  Her 
future,  as  the  wife  of  M.  de  Mariol,  would  be 
assured  of  certain  elements  of  happiness  quite 
apart  from  the  demands  of  her  past,  but  on 
the  whole  as  satisfying  to  a  reasonable  being. 
He  had  told  her  that  his  means  enabled  him 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  267 

to  be  independent  of  the  charge  of  fortune- 
hunting.  He  knew  that  she  was  now,  by  her 
own  act,  almost  impoverished,  and  yet  he  still 
wanted  her.  He  was  well-born,  admirably 
bred,  in  a  social  surrounding  that  would  con- 
tinually interest  her,  and  was,  as  always,  a  true 
and  loyal  gentleman.  Above  all,  her  future 
home  would  be  far  removed  from  the  unspeak- 
able black  cloud  that  must  hang  over  it  in 

America.    And  yet 

Posey's  happy  voice  sounded  in  her  ear. 
"  You  aren't  going  to  read  your  letter,  now1? 
Then  you'll  let  me  talk?  You  haven't  for- 
gotten that  we're  dining  to-night  at  Villa 
Julia?  Do  you  think  I  had  better  wear  my 
rose  chiffon,  or  the  little  white  crepe  de  chine 
with  silver  embroideries  that  came  from  the 
bazaar  in  Cairo?  It  was  so  strange  Lord 
Clandonald  should  have  taken  the  hour  to 
call  yesterday,  when  we  were  sure  to  be  at 
the  Golf  Club  with  all  the  world.  You  say 
he  looks  well,  Helen?  Bigger,  browner, 
stronger?  I  have  been  thinking  all  yester- 
day and  to-day  of  dear  Lady  Campstown's 
joy  in  his  return.  When  she  heard  he  was 
coming  she  quite  forgot  me,  and  my  poor 
diminished  shade  crept  into  insignificance. 


268  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

With  her  own  dear  little  thin  hands  she 
smoothed  his  bed-linen,  and  put  flowers  on 
his  dressing-table.  Ah,  how  much  love  means, 
Helen!  It's  been  growing  on  me  every  day, 
that  all  the  rest  is  poor  flimsy  stuff.  .  .  . 
I  think  Lady  Campstown  has  made  me  over, 
and  my  breast  swells  in  gratitude  to  her.  I 
even  love  daddy  better  for  loving  her.  .  .  . 
If  I  can  only  end  by  loving  John  as  much  as 
I  love  them!" 

"  Posey!  "  said  her  friend,  shivering. 

"  Don't  say  you  feel  the  mistral,  Helen.  It 
simply  can't  get  to  us  in  this  sheltered  spot. 
Dear,  I  wish  you'd  be  happy,  too.  For  some 
reason  that  I  can't  tell,  I'm  simply  bubbling 
over  to-day.  One  of  my  wild  fits,  I  reckon. 
It  began  when  I  got  your  wire  saying  you 
were  actually  going  to  be  good  enough  to 
come  and  stay  with  me,  without  that  hateful 
old  Bleecker — there,  I  feel  better.  '  Celd 
soulage!  '  as  the  woman  in  that  play  at  the 
Gallia  said  when  she  had  boxed  her  hus- 
band's ears — and  then,  and  then " 

"  Posey!"  repeated  Helen,  with  a  sort  of 
awe  in  her  voice. 

She  had  noted,  with  astonishment  and  pain, 
the  girl's  uncontrollable  delight  at  the  knowl- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  269 

edge  of  Clandonald's  actual  vicinity  to  her. 
She  had  watched  her,  all  the  day  before,  flut- 
tering with  excitement  and  expectation,  drop- 
ping for  a  while  into  bitter  disappointment 
when  they  had  returned  home,  to  find  only  his 
cards ! 

"  Helen,  you  think  I'm  impatient  for  this 
evening  to  come,  but  I  'm  not.  I  can  wait  per- 
fectly well  to  see  Lady  Campstown  with  her 
*  boy.'  But  you  know  how  the  person  some- 
body you  love  is  always  talking  about  and 
waiting  for,  seems  the  one  you  want  most  to 
see.  Not  a  day  this  winter  that  the  old  dar- 
ling hasn't  talked  to  me  of  '  Clan.'  I  believe 
I  know  about  every  incident  of  his  life,  except 
the  gloomy  ones  connected  with  his  marriage 
— his  first  pony,  his  scarlet  fever,  all  the  rest 
of  it " 

Helen's  anxious  brow  cleared. 

"  I  suppose  it's  natural,  but  you  mustn't 
forget,  my  dear,  that  he 's  very  handsome  and 
charming,  and  your  fancy  took  a  little  turn 
that  way  on  shipboard — and  that  you  are  soon 
to  be  married  to  John  Glynn." 

Posey  heaved  a  long,  genuine  sigh. 

"  I  don't  forget.  I'm  all  right  for  John, 
only  I  wish  I  could  be  free  a  little  longer.  I 


270  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

should  think  you'd  know  nothing  would  tempt 
me  to  be  in  love  with  a  man  whose  wife  isn't 
dead.  Anyhow,  I  told  John  every  single  thing 
that  ever  passed  between  Clandonald  and  me, 
not  the  tiniest  thing  hidden.  Of  course  John 
saw  I  couldn't  help  being  more  interested,  in 
a  certain  way,  in  Clandonald  than  in  any  man 
I  ever  saw  before." 

"  Not  of  course,  Posey,"  said  Helen,  half 
smiling.  "  There  are  even  some  people  who 
might  consider  the  man  you  have  more  '  in- 
teresting '  than  the  man  you  might  have  had." 

"  Oh!  John  is  a  darling.  Everybody 
knows  that,  but  their  looks  are  not  to  be  com- 
pared— why,  Helen,  he's  not  as  tall  as  Clan- 
donald by  several  inches — he  hasn't  that  beau- 
tiful set  of  the  head  upon  the  shoulders,  just 
such  as  I  should  think  a  king  would  have — 
and  that  rich,  thick  brown  hair — Helen,  it's 
really  dreadful  how  thin  John's  hair  is  get- 
ting on  the  top." 

Helen  dropped  her  book  upon  the  ground. 

"  Don't,  Posey,"  she  exclaimed,  almost 
sharply.  "  It  isn't  worthy  of  you  to  talk 
such  nonsense." 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  the  girl,  mischievously, 
"  I  feel  like  saying  those  little  things  some- 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  271 

times,  it  seems  to  relieve  the  tension.  .  .  . 
Helen,  don't  look  at  me  with  such  a  face," 
she  added,  with  sudden  gravity.  "  It  almost 
makes  me  think  that  though  John  is  going 
to  marry  me,  you  haven't  entirely  stopped 
caring  for  him.  .  .  .  How  pale  you  are! 
You  frighten  me !  .  .  .  You  know  you  do, 
you  know  you  do,  and  he — ?  How  could  he 
love  me  when  he  had  you  near?  I  see  it  all 
now.  He  would  like  to  get  you  back;  he  has 
never  really  wanted  me,  and  I'm  only  to  be 
taken  because  of  his  duty  to  my  father." 

The  April  mood  had  changed.  Great  drops 
of  crystal  welled  into  her  blue  eyes  and 
dropped  upon  her  cheeks.  Impelled  by  des- 
perate resolve,  Helen  sprang  upon  her  feet. 

"  Don't  cry,  dear.  Don't  cry,  my  darling 
Posey.  You  are  over-nervous,  and  it  isn't 
wise  for  us  to  prolong  a  talk  like  this.  I  will 
leave  you  for  a  little  while  alone,  to  go  in  and 
read  my  letter,  and  when  we  meet  again  at 
luncheon,  I  may  have  something  to  tell  you 
about  myself  that  will  take  away  all  fear  of 
my  ever  coming  between  you  and  your  John 
Glynn." 


CHAPTER   X 

CLANDONALD  had  now  been  two  whole  days 
in  Cannes  without  treating  himself  to  a 
glimpse  of  the  young  woman  with  whom  he 
had  parted  in  a  fog  off  Liverpool.  And  yet 
this  was  not  through  indifference,  or  forget- 
fulness,  for  in  all  his  wanderings  the  image 
of  the  fair  American,  his  "  Goddess  of  Lib- 
erty," as  he  liked  to  think  of  her,  had  gone 
with  him  persistently,  in  spite  of  the  unpleas- 
ant fact  that  he  knew  her  to  be  engaged  to, 
and  now  on  the  point  of  matrimony  with,  an- 
other man.  Even  Mariol  had  not  found  out 
how  keenly  the  news  of  the  forthcoming  nup- 
tials of  Miss  Winstanley  and  Mr.  Glynn  had 
cut  into  his  friend's  sensibilities.  Rather 
than  meet  her,  Clandonald  would  fain  have 
avoided  the  Riviera  altogether,  to  go  on  direct 
to  London,  but  for  the  pleading  image  of  his 
dear  old  aunt,  who  was  counting  upon  him 
to  come  to  her.  Nobody  suspected  that  in  a 
long,  flat  pocket-book  of  Viennese  leather, 
presented  to  him  at  parting  by  Lady  Camps- 
town — and  for  a  wonder  in  woman's  gifts, 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  273 

actually  available  by  the  male  recipient — he 
carried  a  picture  of  Posey,  cut  out  of  an  Eng- 
lish illustrated  paper,  found  in  a  wayside  inn 
in  Roumania,  among  other  "  Beauties  of  the 
Day  and  Hour."  It  was  a  charming  charac- 
teristic pose  in  which  the  photographer  had 
caught  her,  and  the  gown  and  coiffure  showed 
the  girl's  advance  in  worldly  style  and  knowl- 
edge of  how  to  make  the  most  of  her  advan- 
tages. Here,  indeed,  would  have  been  a  Lady 
Clandonald,  amply  equipped  to  take  her  place 
in  the  picture  gallery  of  Beaumanoir  among 
the  beauties  of  their  line!  And  in  her  frank 
young  face  he  could  read  no  trace  of  the  un- 
wholesome tastes  and  proclivities  that  had 
wrecked  him  through  Kuby  Darien.  It  was 
a  folly,  a  childish  weakness,  to  treasure  this 
scrap  of  paper  in  his  breast  pocket  close  over 
his  heart,  and  he  had  resolved  that  he  would 
soon  violently  dispossess  himself  of  the  same 
by  casting  it  in  the  fire.  Let  him  meet  her 
once  again,  have  speech  with  her  in  the  or- 
dinary way,  realize  that  she  was  entirely  ab- 
sorbed in  preparations  for  her  union  with 
another,  and  it  would  be  easier  to  be  done  for 
good  and  all  with  this  strange,  obstinate,  en- 
during obsession. 


274  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

It  was  not  the  best  atmosphere  for  a  man 
in  his  state  of  mind  to  find  himself  in  daily 
intercourse  with  his  impulsive  old  aunt,  whose 
life  had  been  for  weeks  and  months  saturated 
with  the  influence  of  Posey's  personality. 
Although  Lady  Campstown  honestly  believed 
herself  to  be  doing  everything  that  feminine 
tact  and  zeal  could  inspire  to  extol  to  him  the 
desirability  of  Helen  Carstairs  as  a  wife,  she 
was  really  setting  forth  Posey's  charm  from 
morning  until  night.  She  told  Clandonald 
how  the  girl  had  first  come  to  her,  tall  and 
nymph-like,  through  the  avenue  of  palms, 
with  violets,  white  and  blue,  clustered  around 
her  footprints.  How,  immediately,  her  first 
distaste  of  the  dreaded  American  neighbor 
had  been  swept  away  in  the  girl's  sweet  ap- 
peal to  her  friendship ;  how  she  had  then  only 
done  for  her  what  she  would  have  had  an- 
other woman  do,  in  like  case,  for  her  own 
Lucy,  had  she  lived.  And  how,  little  by  little, 
she  had  grown  to  wait  upon  Posey's  daily 
coming,  to  laugh  with  her,  to  sympathize  in 
her  needs  and  perplexities,  until  she  counted 
a  day  lost  when  Miss  Winstanley  did  not  ap- 
pear to  irradiate  it. 

"  At  the  same  time,  my  dear,"  the  dowager 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  275 

said,  interrupting  herself,  "  I  am  not  going 
to  pretend  that  there  are  not  other  girls  in 
the  world  as  engaging  and  lovable  as  she. 
Miss  Carstairs,  for  example,  is — er — most 
distinguished  in  her  appearance,  and  has  ad- 
mirable manners.  Posey  tells  me  that  her 
friend  Helen  is  so  highly  educated  she  makes 
her  feel  as  ignorant  as  a  street  Arab.  Of 
course,  that's  only  the  child's  American  habit 
of  exaggeration.  She  really  reads  and  studies 
part  of  every  day,  and  her  literature  teacher, 
Miss  Barton,  says  Miss  Winstanley's  mem- 
ory for  facts  and  grasp  of  ideas  is  something 
quite  out  of  the  common.  As  I  was  saying, 
Helen  Carstairs  is  just  the  kind  of  person  I 
should  think  would  bear  transplanting  into 
English  life.  She  is  so  simple  and  unemo- 
tional and  self-contained.  When  you  go  to 
Reine  des  Fees  to  call — when  did  you  say 
you  were  going  to  call,  Clan  dear?  v 

"  I  don't  think  I  said,  Aunt  Lucy,"  an- 
swered her  nephew,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  All,  well,  dear,  probably  it  will  be  to-day, 
as  you  have  now  had  time  to  draw  breath 
after  telling  me  all  about  your  travels.  You 
must  have  had  a  very  pleasant  journey  from 
Naples  in  company  with  Miss  Carstairs." 


276  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

"  Yes,  very  pleasant,  what  Mariol  would 
let  me  have  of  her.  He  was  very  absorbent, 
it  must  be  said.  You  know  I  told  you  once, 
long  ago,  that  I  believed  good  old  Mariol  had 
actually  knocked  under  to  a  fair  Yankee,  and 
I  have  now  every  reason  to  believe  that  this 
lady  is  the  object  of  his  secret  cult." 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing!'1  ex- 
claimed Lady  Campstown,  for  her,  almost 
sharply.  "  I  can't  imagine  a  more  unsuit- 
able idea.  These  marriages  with  Frenchmen 
rarely  turn  out  well.  At  least,  unless  the  man 
has  a  title  and  a  chateau,  and  the  foreign  wife 
would  have  some  interests  in  the  country.  A 
mere  brilliant,  drifting,  scoffing  creature  like 
M.  de  Mariol—!  Think  of  that  book  of  his 
I  found  on  your  table  and  tried  to  read. 
Why,  there  were  ideas  in  it  that  made  my 
hair  stand  on  end." 

"  Moral:  Aunt  Lucys  shouldn't  carry  off 
the  French  books  they  find  on  their  nephews' 
tables,"  answered  he,  teasingly.  "  It  is  a 
fact,  however,  that  Miss  Carstairs  seemed  to 
find  extreme  satisfaction  in  her  long-con- 
tinued duet  with  my  clever  chum.  It  was  as 
much  as  I  could  do  to  get  a  word  in  edgewise. ' ' 

"  I  am  surprised,  and  I  must  say  a  little 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  277 

put  out,  Clan.  I  shouldn't  think  you'd  have 
given  her  up  like  that  to  any  man,  however 
friendly  he  might  be." 

"  To  give  up  argues  to  have  had.  And  I 
cannot  truly  claim  to  have  established  any 
monopoly  in  the  young  lady's  society.  Aunt 
Lucy,  dear,  I  won't  tease  you  any  more.  As 
our  American  friends  say, i  you've  been  bark- 
ing up  the  wrong  tree.'  It  was  never  Miss 
Carstairs  that  turned  my  poor,  weak  brain. 
I  admire,  esteem  her  cordially,  and  think 
Mariol  would  get  an  ideal  wife  if  she  would 
smile  on  him — but  love  her — never  in  this 
world." 

"  But  you  said  I  might  think  what  I  pleased 
as  to  your  being  spooney  about  an  American 
girl,  that  day  you  brought  her  to  Beauma- 
noir  and  afterward  told  me  you  had  de- 
cided to  go  away  again.  It  was  virtually 
acknowledging  that  you  loved  her,  and  but 
for  the  abominable  interference  of  a  person 
who  shall  be  nameless,  would  have  pressed 
your  suit." 

"  They  said  that  in  Lord  Byron's  days, 
Aunt  Lucy,  or  was  it  Miss  Edgeworth's? 
And  you  have  been  dwelling  on  that  rash 
admission  of  mine,  and  building  air  castles 


278  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

with  me  and  Miss  Carstairs  looking  out  of 
the  windows  all  these  months  in  consequence  ? 
No,  best  of  aunties,  you  are  horribly  out  of 
focus.  You've  got  hold  of  the  wrong  per- 
son altogether.  I  don't  in  the  least  mind  let- 
ting you  know  that  I  made  all  kinds  of  a  fool 
of  myself  on  that  voyage  over  last  October. 
I  dreamed  dreams  never  to  be  realized.  And, 
as  the  powers  of  mischief  willed  it,  Ruby 
seeing  my  name  announced  for  that  sailing, 
had  taken  a  second-class  passage  on  the  same 
ship,  with  the  laudable  hope  of  i  making  it 
hot  for  me,'  she  said.  She  succeeded  but  too 
well.  She  peppered  an  innocent  young  girl 
with  vile  anonymous  notes  that  made  her 
shun  the  sight  of  me.  After  I  got  to  town, 
she  wrote  to  me  directly,  and  to  buy  her  off  I 
made  certain  sacrifices  I  could  ill  afford.  As 
far  as  I  know  to  the  contrary,  I  did  buy  her 
off.  I  count  any  money  well  spent  that  would 
keep  shame  and  sorrow  out  of  the  life  of  the 
girl  I  set  out  to  champion.  She  never  knew 
of  it,  she  very  likely  wouldn't  care.  She  prob- 
ably went  on  her  straight,  clean  path  of  life, 
and  forgot  everything  connected  with  me. 
Yes,  it  was  an  American  girl,  Aunt  Lucy,  but 
she  wasn't  Helen  Carstairs." 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  279 

"  My  poor  boy,  my  darling  Clan,"  began 
the  dowager,  then  choked  and  remained  silent. 

"  I  know  you'll  never  ask  me  who  it  was, 
dear,  so  I'll  make  haste  and  put  you  out  of 
your  misery.  Did  it  never  occur  to  you  that 
your  admiration  for  Miss  Winstanley  might 
be  a  family  failing?  ' 

"  Oh!  not  that,  Clan.  Never  that!  To 
think  you  got  so  near  anything  that  would 
have  given  me  such  pure  joy " 

"  I  didn't  get  near,  that  was  just  the  trouble. 
I  believe  she  liked  me,  perhaps  better  than 
any  other  man  on  board,  till  Ruby's  doings 
came  between  us.  But  she  gave  me  unmis- 
takably to  understand  there  could  be  nothing 
again  after  we  parted  then.  Of  course,  when 
I  heard  later  that  she  was  engaged  to  this 
man  Glynn " 

' '  Who  is  really  a  fine,  manly  fellow,  Clan ; 
you  couldn't  help  liking  him.  But,  oh!  why 
couldn't  he  have  fancied  the  Carstairs  girl 
and  left  my  Posey  for  you?  And,  my  dear, 
it  is  just  a  marvel  to  me.  Posey,  who  is  as 
open  as  a  spring  morning  when  there  isn't  a 
cloud  in  the  sky;  Posey,  who  never  prevari- 
cates or  hesitates  about  the  truth,  how  could 


280  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

she  let  me  go  on,  day  after  day,  hour  after 
hour,  talking  about  you " 

"  A  fine  evidence  of  her  polite  endurance, 
Aunt  Lucy.  Poor  Miss  Winstanley!  ' 

"  How  could  she,  I  say,  without  giving  me 
the  least  little  hint  that  you  had  fallen  in  love 
with  her?  " 

"  I  suppose  because  she  considered  that  my 
secret." 

"  Now  that  I  think  it  over,  it  seems  to  me 
that  she  almost  always  managed  to  turn  the 
conversation  in  your  direction.  She  certainly 
showed  the  utmost  relish  in  whatever  I  had 
to  tell  her,  good,  bad  or  indifferent." 

"  There  was  no  occasion  for  the  use  of 
either  of  the  two  last  adjectives,  when  I  was 
your  subject,"  said  Clandonald,  looking  at 
her  with  tenderness,  more  touched  than  he 
chose  to  show. 

"  No,  my  dear,  there  wasn't,  I  must  say. 
Oh !  Clan,  it  all  comes  back  to  me  with  a  rush. 
Why,  Posey  has  been  just  living  on  talk  of 
you  and  reminiscences  of  you  ever  since  we 
have  been  together.  And  I  thought  it  was 
only  I!" 

"  Take  care,  Aunt  Lucy,"  the  man  said, 
getting  up  to  stride  back  and  forth  across 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  281 

the  room.  "  This  is  dangerous  doctrine  you're 
preaching,  when  Miss  Winstanley's  wedding- 
day  is  set." 

"  God  forgive  me,  so  it  is,"  answered  Lady 
Campstown,  the  tears  rushing  into  her  eyes. 

11  Let  us  make  a  pact,  will  you?  "  said  Clan- 
donald,  stopping  presently.  "  I  have  gone 
over  and  left  my  pasteboards  in  due  form  at 
Reine  des  Fees,  at  a  time  when  you  told  me 
the  ladies  were  likely  to  be  at  the  Golf  Club." 

"  Yes,  and  I  was  really  quite  put  out  about 
it,  but  I  see  now  that  it  was  better  so." 

"  And  I  shall  meet  the  young  lady  at  din- 
ner here  this  evening,  according  to  your  plan. 
There  will  be  several  outsiders.  I  shan't 
have  much  chance  to  speak  with  her,  and 
after  that " 

"  Clan,  don't  suggest  that  you  will  leave 
me  after  that.  Indeed,  I  couldn't  stand  it; 
you  positively  must  stay.  I  should  tell  you 
that  you  won't  run  much  chance  of  seeing 
Posey  privately,  in  any  case.  She's  tre- 
mendously taken  up  with  fitters  and  people 
who  come  down  from  Paris  to  bring  things  for 
her  to  see.  Besides,  Miss  Carstairs  isn't  in 
good  spirits,  I  find,  and  no  wonder — I  believe 
she  just  broke  and  ran  away  from  that  dread- 


282  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

ful  vulgar  stepmother.  We  heard  enough  of 
Mrs.  Carstairs'  doings  the  little  time  she  was 
here  to  be  thankful  she  took  herself  off. 
There's  trouble  brewing  for  the  husband,  if 
all  one  is  told  is  true.  Posey  watches  over 
Helen  like  a  mother-bird,  and  hardly  leaves 
her.  Besides,  they  are  expecting  at  any  day 
or  time  the  return  of  Mr.  Glynn.  He  hasn't 
cabled,  but  it  was  understood  he  was  to  get 
aboard  the  first  available  ship  sailing  for 
Cherbourg  or  the  Mediterranean  ports  the 
hour  after  he  finished  some  critical  business 
he  had  on  hand  for  his  chief.  (The  way 
these  Americans  fly  fairly  takes  one's  breath 
away!)  So  there  is  no  reason  for  you  to  go 
from  here,  if  you  think  there's  to  be  any  em- 
barrassment resulting  from  your  meeting 
with  her.  The  days  will  glide  on  fast  enough 
to  the  wedding!  "  she  ended  with  a  deep  and 
heartfelt  sigh. 

"  I  don't  want  to  run  in  face  of  the  enemy, 
indeed,"  he  said,  trying  for  a  more  cheerful 
face.  "  I  think  I'll  stroll  out  in  the  garden 
and  smoke  a  pipe,  and  try  and  settle  my  per- 
turbed spirit.  And  you,  dear,  what  will  you 
do  with  yourself  this  afternoon  ?  ' 

"  The  carriage  is  ordered,  soon,  for  a  round 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  283 

of  visits  I  have  to  make.  How  much  rather 
had  I  spend  the  time,  as  I  often  do  at  this 
hour,  going  in  through  the  green  door  to  sit 
with  Posey  in  the  orange  walk — near  the 
fountain  with  the  broken-nosed  Triton,  you 
remember.  It's  her  favorite  spot,  and  noth- 
ing but  rain  will  prevent  her  sitting  there 
for  an  hour  with  her  book  or  work." 

"  Then  I'll  see  you  at  tea-time,  if  not  be- 
fore. ' ' 

"  I'll  be  back,  you  may  trust  me.  Nothing 
I  dislike  more  than  having  my  tea  out,  at 
houses  where  a  woman  sits  behind  a  little 
table,  talking  to  everybody  that  comes,  and 
mixing  the  most  abominable  doses  of  half- 
cold  tea,  and  too  much  cream  and  sugar,  for 
her  unoffending  guests,  forgetting  whether 
the  water  boils  or  the  tea-pot  has  stood  too 
long !  Keep  to  the  bamboo  walk,  my  dear,  the 
mistral  is  blowing  hard  to-day,  and  you're 
not  like  me,  acclimatized  to  it.  Down  there 
you'll  be  sheltered  and  private,  and  can  smoke 
your  pipe  in  peace." 


Clandonald  had  hardly  left  his  aunt  stand- 
ing before  the  fireplace  in  her  sunny  draw- 


284  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

ing-room,  pondering  upon  the  surprising  in- 
telligence he  had  communicated,  when  Lady 
Campstown's  parlor-maid  came  in  with  a 
rather  frightened  face. 

"  Well,  Parks,  what  is  it?  Have  you 
broken  a  piece  of  my  old  Sevres  in  putting 
out  the  dessert  service,  or  has  pussy  had  a 
fit!" 

"  It's  only,  my  lady,"  said  the  girl,  halt- 
ingly, "  that  the — er — lady  you  gave  us 
orders  not  to  admit  has  driven  up  to  the 
gate  in  a  cab,  and  insists  upon  seeing  you 
on  business  of  the  highest  importance,  so  she 
says." 

"  You  mean  the  person  calling  herself  Mrs. 
Darien?  "  asked  the  dowager,  in  icy  tones. 

"  That  were  the  name,  your  ladyship." 

"  What  can  I  do?  "  passed  through  Lady 
Campstown's  much-perturbed  and  angered 
brain.  "  Clan's  being  here  complicates  mat- 
ters dreadfully.  She  is  quite  capable  of  mak- 
ing a  scene  that  will  echo  through  the  neigh- 
borhood. I  have  declared  that  I  will  not  again 
hold  speech  with  her.  If  she  were  herself,  I 
believe  even  she  would  not  push  into  my  house 
and  presence.  The  horrible  fear  is  that  she 
is  not  herself,  but  under  the  influence  of 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  285 

drink.  In  that  case  I  must  get  old  Rosa, 
who  loves  her  still,  to  take  her  off  quietly. 

"  Say  that  Lady  Canrpstown  will  see  Mrs. 
Darien  for  ten  minutes  before  she  goes  out 
to  keep  an  engagement.  And,  Parks,  tell  the 
cab  to  wait.  Not  outside  the  front  gate,  but 
in  the  lane  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden.  And, 
Parks,  send  Rosa  to  me  at  once." 

The  Provencal  servant,  called  Rosa,  with  a 
rather  pale  and  guilt-stricken  face  and  man- 
ner, came  hastily  into  the  drawing-room, 
stepping  back  to  hold  open  its  door  for  Mrs. 
Darien,  who  followed  close  upon  her  heels. 

"  Stop  where  you  are,  Rosa,"  said  the  mis- 
tress of  the  dwelling,  now  the  great  lady  in 
every  muscle  and  fibre  of  her  stately  little 
form.  She  spoke  in  the  woman's  own  tongue, 
and  her  low,  clear  voice  was  charged  with  in- 
dignant emphasis.  "  From  this  lady's  ap- 
pearance in  my  house,  I  assume  that  she  is 
in  some  degree  irresponsible  for  her  actions, 
and  that  she  needs  a  caretaker  to  escort  her 
back  whence  she  came.  I  desire  you  to  make 
yourself  ready  to  go  with  her,  now,  directly, 
without  delay,  and  not  to  return  under  my 
roof  until  you  can  report  to  me  that  you  have 
done  so." 


286  LATTEK-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

"  No  such  great  hurry,  Aunt  Lucy,"  said 
Mrs.  Darien,  with  careless  insolence.  "  1'rn 
really  in  a  very  normal  and  pacific  state  of 
mind,  considering  the  way  the  mistral  is  blow- 
ing, and  that  I,  last  night,  spent  my  last  sou 
at  Monte  Carlo,  and  will  be  turned  out  of  my 
room  at  Nice  if  I  can't  pay  for  it  before  a 
couple  of  days  have  passed." 

"  You  can  stoop  to  ask  me  for  money?  ' 
said  Lady  Campstown,  in  English. 

"  When  one's  flat  on  the  ground  one  hasn't 
to  stoop,  you  know,"  answered  the  visitor, 
calmly  arranging  the  folds  of  her  veil  drawn 
over  a  cheap  plumed  hat,  under  which  a  chalk- 
white  countenance  with  gleaming  eyes  re- 
vealed itself  menacingly.  "  I  chanced  to  see 
in  the  local  paper  that  Clan  had  arrived  to 
stop  with  you,  and  so  simply  timed  my  visit 
when  you  would  feel  most  impelled  to  pay  to 
get  rid  of  me.  What,  for  instance,  if  he  were 
to  step  in  at  this  moment,  through  that  win- 
dow into  the  garden?  Wouldn't  it  be  rather 
cheap  at  the  price  to  see  the  last  of  me  for  a 
couple  of  hundred  francs  or  so  ?  ' 

Lady  Campstown,  with  a  swelling  heart, 
walked  over  to  her  escritoire,  unlocking  a 
compartment  thereof  to  take  out  two  bank- 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  287 

notes  of  the  amount  indicated.  She  despised 
herself  for  the  action,  but  could  not  trust  her 
voice  to  speak. 

"  Thanks,  so  very  much,"  said  Ruby,  su- 
perbly putting  her  gains  into  a  bag  of  gilded 
meshes  hanging  at  her  waist.  "  And  as  I  see 
you  flashing  the  lightning  of  your  virtuous 
eye  upon  that  poor,  shuddering  numbskull  of  a 
Rosa  there,  let  me  at  least  exonerate  her  from 
any  complicity  in  the  arrangement  for  my 
visit  here  to-day." 

"  I  have  heard  that  you  have  been  seen 
lately  in  the  lane  below  my  garden,"  ex- 
claimed the  dowager  hotly,  "  and  that  some 
one  in  my  household  is  under  suspicion  of 
having  been  holding  conversation  with  you 
in  the  bamboo  walk.  I  can  only  say  that  if 
this  happens  again  Rosa  goes  out  of  my  ser- 
vice on  the  minute." 

Ruby,  who  had  been  covetously  looking 
around  the  luxurious,  familiar  room,  shrugged 
her  shoulders  indifferently. 

11  I  suppose  I  must  not  detain  you,"  she 
said  conventionally,  turning  to  withdraw. 
"  But  since  you  have  suggested  it,  I  would 
be  really  quite  glad  to  have  Rosa  escort  me 
back  to  my  hotel.  The  effort  of  coming  here 


288  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

— perhaps  the  force  of  old  associations — has 
proved  something  of  an  ordeal  to  me.  My 
heart  is  rather  spinning  around,  and  I  am  not 
altogether  sure  I  can  answer  for  the  strength 
necessary  to  support  my  legs  on  the  retreat." 

"  Go,  Rosa,  put  on  your  hat  and  jacket  as 
I  bid  you,  and  accompany  Madame,"  said 
Lady  Campstown,  nervously  anxious  to  end 
the  scene  at  any  cost.  A  fuller  view  of  Mrs. 
Darien's  face  had  showed  her  the  awful  ex- 
tent to  which  time  and  an  evil  life  had  ravaged 
it.  She  would  not  look  at  her  a  second  time, 
but,  shuddering,  walked  away  to  the  window 
and  set  it  wide  open,  standing  with  her  back 
to  the  offender,  in  speechless  disgust  and 
misery. 

To  be  one  minute  unobserved  was  enough 
for  Ruby  Darien.  She  had  been  standing 
near  a  little  cabinet,  on  a  shelf  of  which  was 
accustomed  to  lie  Lady  Campstown 's  own 
especial  pass-key  through  the  little  green 
door  into  the  garden  of  Reine  des  Fees.  Since 
the  occupation  of  the  place  by  tenants  this 
had  not  been  used.  But  things  were  not  wont 
to  change  their  position  often  at  Villa  Julia, 
and  the  key  still  lay  in  its  old  corner  undis- 
turbed. Ruby's  nimble  fingers  closed  upon 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  289 

and  transferred  it  to  the  interior  of  her  little 
gilded  bag,  while  Lady  Campstown,  resolved 
not  to  speak  to  her  visitor  again,  kept  her  po- 
sition at  the  window. 

"  I  suppose,  then,  I  may  go?  "  said  Ruby, 
laughing  softly.  "  In  view  of  your  inhospit- 
able attitude,  I  have  really  no  excuse  for  lin- 
gering. Au  revoir,  Aunt  Lucy.  I  will  return 
to  you  your  old  Rosa  unspotted  by  the  world. 
And  if  it  will  add  to  Clan's  pleasure  to  hear 
I  am  near  him,  give  him  my  compliments." 


CHAPTER   XI 

CLANDONALD,  meantime,  was  walking  up  and 
down  in  the  bamboo  avenue,  chewing  the  cud 
of  sweet  and  bitter  fancy.  Lady  Campstown's 
loving  babble  had  put  him  in  possession  of 
an  idea  that  haunted  him  like  sweet  music. 
"  Posey  has  been  fairly  living  on  talk  of  you 
and  reminiscences  of  you  ever  since  we  met." 
With  all  due  allowance  for  the  predisposition 
of  the  kind  speaker  in  his  favor,  there  was  a 
suggestion  of  conviction  in  her  manner  that 
he  could  not  forget  or  put  away.  Was  ever 
flattery  so  subtly  delicious  as  this  thought? 
The  fine  stern  resolution  he  had  made  to  flee 
from  Posey 's  vicinity  seemed  to  take  to  it- 
self wings  and  vanish  in  thin  air.  What? 
Go  without  seeing  her  once  alone,  without 
thanking  her  for  her  kind  thought  of  him, 
her  mission  of  ministration  to  his  relative  in 
his  absence?  It  would  be  a  truly  unheard-of 
thing  to  do.  He  even  chose  to  forget  the 
swiftly  advancing  marriage — the  betrothed 
lover  who  was  doubtless  now  upon  the  ocean, 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  291 

speeding  as  fast  as  steam  could  bring  him  to 
make  sweet  Posey  Ms.  Nothing  weighed, 
nothing  counted,  beside  Clandonald's  strong, 
overpowering  desire  to  look  upon  her  face, 
to  touch  her  hand  again,  to  have  her  clear 
eyes  search  the  recesses  of  his  soul. 

In  two  words,  he  had  come  down  off  his 
high  horse,  and  was  now  madly  anxious  to 
get  inside  the  Reine  des  Fees  garden  on  the 
chance  of  finding  Miss  Winstanley  sitting 
alone  in  the  spot  indicated  by  his  aunt  as  her 
favorite  retreat  at  that  hour  of  the  day — 
the  orange  walk,  near  the  fountain  with  the 
broken-nosed  Triton.  It  was  one  of  the  most 
secluded  spots  about  the  grounds,  he  remem- 
bered. Anything  might  happen  there  and 
the  inhabitants  of  the  villa  be  none  the  wiser 
for  it.  What  good  fortune  if  he  should  have 
the  luck  to  find  her  alone  and  undisturbed  in 
this  sequestered  nook!  And  even  if  Miss 
Carstairs  should  be  with  Posey,  he  would 
trust  to  her  woman's  tact  to  leave  them  alone 
for  a  little  talk. 

With  an  artful  affectation  of  going  toward 
the  town,  he  proceeded  to  stroll  down  the 
walled  street  for  a  bit,  then  turning,  doubled 
on  his  tracks,  and  went  in  at  the  large  gate 


292  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

of  the  Villa  Reine  des  Fees,  inquiring  of  the 
woman  who  sat  in  the  vine-wreathed  doorway 
of  the  lodge  playing  dominoes  with  an  old,  old 
man,  and  who  admired  milord  Clandonald 
greatly,  whether  "  the  ladies  "  were  at  home. 
Upon  receiving  from  her  a  smiling  assurance 
that  she  knew  them  to  be  somewhere  about 
the  grounds,  since  her  husband,  the  gardener, 
had  just  then  called  to  Miss  Winstanley 
where  she  sat  in  the  orange  walk,  to  receive 
some  orders  about  a  new  flower-bed,  he  bowed, 
thanked  his  informant,  and  took  his  way  to 
the  designated  spot. 

Clandonald  had  regained  his  boyish  beauty 
after  so  many  days  in  the  saddle  and  nights 
under  the  stars.  His  complexion  was  well 
with  healthy  blood,  the  haggard  look  had  fled 
from  his  eyes,  his  magnificent  form  was  in 
perfect  condition,  his  heart  beat  like  a  school- 
boy's beneath  his  summer  flannels.  As  he 
walked  on  with  a  rapid,  springing  step,  he 
brandished  in  his  hand  a  Makila  stick  of 
tough  Pyrenean  wood,  of  which  the  handle 
was  formed  of  a  single  rounded  pebble,  and 
having  at  the  lower  end  an  iron  spike — one 
of  the  dangerous  canes  fabricated  by  the 
Basque  peasants,  dear  to  the  heart  of  North- 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  293 

ern  Spain,  brought  by  Mm  from  Biarritz, 
long  ago,  and  left  hanging  by  its  leathern 
loop  in  his  aunt's  entry,  where,  as  a  relic  of 
her  nephew,  it  was  religiously  preserved.  His 
hat,  of  fine  Panama  braid,  shaded  his  eyes 
from  the  too  glaring  ardor  of  the  Provencal 
sun  after  the  middle  of  the  day. 

The  gardener's  wife,  looking  after  him, 
smiled  appreciatively.  She  knew  his  hard 
luck  story,  and,  like  everybody  else,  hoped 
that  Clandonald  had  at  last  emerged  again 
from  under  the  shadow  of  the  undeserved 
cloud  of  Ruby  Darien.  When  he  had  disap- 
peared behind  the  shrubbery,  and  was  well 
out  of  hearing,  the  good  woman  curved  her 
hand  around  her  mouth  and  remarked  to  her 
ancient  sire,  in  a  patois  hard  for  an  outsider 
to  understand,  that  she  hoped  at  last  the  Bon 
Dieu  was  going  to  make  up  to  this  poor  young 
milord  for  the  troubles  He  had  sent  to  him — 
just,  for  all  the  world,  as  if  he  had  been  a 
peasant  like  themselves ! 

Clandonald  did  not  notice  her  further,  nor 
other  inhabitant  of  the  enchanted  garden 
than  himself,  until  he  arrived  through  a  flow- 
ery arch  directly  in  the  presence  of  Miss 
Winstanley,  seated  alone  upon  a  marble  bench 


294  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

in  a  niche  of  glossy  green,  wiping  tears  out 
of  her  eyes,  like  a  naughty  dryad  put  in  a 
corner  for  punishment. 

At  the  same  moment,  ascending  the  hill 
from  the  town,  came  another  young  man, 
whose  destination  also  was  the  orange  walk, 
where  Posey  sat  disconsolate.  John  Glynn, 
finding  at  the  last  moment  in  New  York  that 
he  could  get  a  quick  passage  to  Genoa  by  an 
ocean  greyhound  put  on  for  an  occasion,  had 
returned  to  Europe  several  days  before  he 
was  expected,  and  neglecting  to  wire  from 
Genoa,  expected  to  take  his  friends  here  by 
surprise.  He  had  walked  from  the  station, 
entering  the  villa  grounds  from  the  lower 
gate.  It  seemed  to  him  something  queer  was 
inspiring  the  forces  of  Nature  that  afternoon. 
A  strange,  weird,  exciting  wind  was  astir 
under  brilliant  sunshine — a  wind  to  provoke 
and  condone  any  act  of  nervous  irritability. 
Glynn  felt  glad  to  take  refuge  from  its  fury 
by  pausing  under  a  great  eucalyptus  at  the 
foot  of  the  garden,  and  resting  there  a  while. 

All  during  his  quick  eight  days'  passage 
across  the  southern  route  of  the  Atlantic,  he 
had  been  alternately  drawn  and  repelled  by  the 


Like    a    naughty    dryad    put    in    a    corner    for    punishment. 
Page   294. 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  295 

consideration  of  his  forthcoming  marriage. 
At  the  idea  of  his  benefactor,  the  maker  of 
his  fortunes,  the  dear  confiding  old  man 
whom  he  could  never  repay  for  benefits  con- 
ferred, he  felt  ready  to  march  up  to  the 
church  door  and  surrender  himself  to  Posey 
without  a  look  behind.  But  it  was  different 
when  the  reverie  centred  upon  the  young  girl 
whose  innocent  thoughts  were  translated  into 
words  as  fast  as  her  impulse  gave  them  birth, 
whose  fun  and  daring,  joy  and  pain,  suc- 
ceeded each  other  like  ripples  on  a  summer 
sea;  he  wondered  if  he  had  a  right  to  make 
of  her  an  unloved  wife. 

For  since  that  fateful  hour  when  he  had  sat 
close  to  Helen  in  the  railway  train,  and  since 
their  meeting  at  the  wayside  chapel  on  the 
hill,  their  hearts  pulsing  together,  their 
thoughts  yearning  each  toward  the  other, 
stern  resolve  forcing  them  apart,  he  had 
known  that  to  say  he  would  cease  to  love 
Helen  had  not  made  it  any  better  with  him, 
as  far  as  the  only  woman  he  had  ever  desired 
to  marry  was  concerned.  Absence  from  her, 
a  voyage  to  and  from  America,  tough  work 
which  he  had  surmounted  successfully,  a 
negotiation  so  skilfully  concluded  that  it  had 


296  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

saved  Mr.  Winstanley  grave  loss,  none  of 
these  circumstances  had  lessened  his  passion- 
ate yearning  for  her  whom  he  had  first  held 
in  his  arms  and  kissed  as  his  future  wife. 
When,  after  one  of  these  outbursts  of  feeling 
for  Helen,  he  thought  of  Posey,  it  was  always 
with  keen  shame  and  abiding  pity;  it  did  not 
seem  to  him  that  he  was  "  playing  fair  " — 
and  yet,  here  he  was,  back  again  at  Cannes, 
the  day  of  the  wedding  was  shortly  to  be  set, 
and,  as  Posey 's  husband,  he  was  to  enter  upon 
a  career  in  his  native  country,  the  breadth  and 
magnitude  of  which  would  surpass  the  fondest 
dreams  of  his  ambitious  boyhood. 

So  strong  had  been  the  current  of  inclina- 
tion turning  him  from  his  destined  way,  that 
he  had  actually  come  afoot  from  the  station, 
and  sent  his  belongings  by  a  cab,  rather  than 
expedite  his  progress  to  Reine  des  Fees  by 
driving.  He  had  no  idea  that  Helen  had  be- 
come a  temporary  inmate  of  the  establish- 
ment. His  one  letter  received  from  Posey 
during  his  swift  run  home,  had  described  her 
friend  as  having  sailed  away  on  the  "  Sans 
Peur,"  in  company  with  that  "  utterly  odious 
Mrs.  Carstairs,"  and  "  looking  so  sad  and 
spiritless  it  wrung  one's  heart  to  see  her." 


LATTEE-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  297 

Helen  in  Naples  or  Sicily,  even  if  he  knew 
her  to  be  far  from  happy,  was  better  than 
Helen  in  Cannes,  looking  on  at  his  wedding 
with  Posey ! 

If  Glynn  could  have  suspected  that  at  the 
identical  moment,  when  he  was  sitting  under 
the  eucalyptus  tree  trying  to  screw  his  courage 
to  pushing  boldly  up  the  hill,  Miss  Carstairs 
was  at  the  writing-table  in  her  room,  inditing 
with  hot  hands  and  desperate  resolve  a  letter 
to  Mariol,  telling  him  she  would  be  his  wife ! 

But  he  dreamed  of  none  of  the  threads  of 
Destiny  weaving  together  that  day  and  hour 
while  the  mistral  blew  fiercely  around  Villa 
Reine  des  Fees.  He  only  thought  he  would 
tarry  a  little  while  longer,  his  legs  and  spirits 
feeling  weighted  as  if  with  lead,  before  an- 
nouncing himself  at  the  house,  the  hero  of 
the  "  happy  event  "  to  come. 

A  third  unexpected  visitor  to  the  garden 
now  also  advanced  from  the  direction  of  Villa 
Julia,  and  moved  furtively  behind  the  hedges 
toward  the  Triton  fountain. 

As  Ruby  had  found  herself  in  the  lane  about 
to  get  into  her  carriage,  with  Rosa  in  attend- 
ance, she  had  caught  sight  of  Clandonald 


298  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

lightly  striding  ahead  of  her,  his  evident  des- 
tination the  gilded  iron  grille  opening  into  the 
drive  of  Reine  des  Fees.  Instantly,  the  burn- 
ing, unreasoning  jealousy  of  Posey,  that  had 
never  forsaken  Mrs.  Darien,  sprang  up  again 
to  madden  her  into  action. 

What  she  desired  to  do,  to  say,  to  accom- 
plish, she  knew  not,  but  (the  bad  wind,  no 
doubt,  aiding)  an  evil  spirit  in  her  blood  com- 
manded her  imperatively  to  enter  and  lurk  in 
the  forbidden  garden,  with  the  hope  of  hearing 
or  seeing  something  pass  between  the  two.  She 
knew  from  public  announcement  that  Miss 
Winstanley  was  about  to  marry  Glynn,  the 
man  who  had  supposed  he  had  bought  Ruby's 
forbearance  from  troubling  his  fiancee.  If 
any  prick  of  conscience  assailed  the  desperate 
creature  it  was  at  thought  of  her  sworn  prom- 
ise to  John  Glynn — a  promise  about  to  be  for- 
feited in  most  treacherous  fashion — to  say 
nothing  of  her  loss  of  his  indispensable  allow- 
ance. For,  in  stealing  the  key  of  the  green 
door  from  Lady  Campstown,  she  had  really 
meant  to  be  more  mischievous  and  offensive 
than  openly  aggressive.  She  intended  to  keep 
it  until  the  chance  came  to  give,  as  she  termed 
it,  "  that  vindictive  old  hag,  Aunt  Lucy,"  a 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  299 

rousing  fright,  and  at  the  same  time,  perhaps, 
satisfy  her  curiosity  as  to  how  things  were 
going  on  between  Clandonald  and  the  Win- 
stanley  girl. 

And  here  was  her  opportunity  sooner  than 
she  had  hoped.  She  had  sharply  ordered  the 
alarmed  Rosa  to  keep  watch  in  the  cab  until 
her  return;  had  heeded  not  the  woman's  be- 
seechings,  for  the  love  of  all  the  Saints,  not 
to  run  this  risk  of  offending  Milady  Camps- 
town  ;  and  had  let  herself  into  Reine  des  Fees 
by  means  of  the  key  which  Posey  had  begged 
Lady  Campstown  to  use  at  will,  now  that  the 
green  door  was  kept  permanently  locked. 

To  cross  the  forbidden  threshold  seemed  to 
inspire  Ruby  with  more  rancorous  thoughts 
than  ever  before.  Why  should  Clandonald, 
also  Glynn,  have  paid  her  so  heavily  to  protect 
this  girl,  already  favored  by  fortune,  whilst 
she  wandered  in  outer  darkness?  She  hated 
Posey  the  more,  not  only  because  these  two 
men  stood  before  her,  but  because  Ruby's  best 
endeavor  had  not  seemed  to  do  her  material 
harm ;  because  the  girl  had  ceased  being  insig- 
nificant and  was  now  rich  and  powerful ;  and 
lastly,  because  Lady  Campstown  was  her  best 
friend. 


300  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

Ruby  knew  that  by  taking  the  nearer  way 
she  would  arrive  upon  the  scene  before  Clan- 
donald  could  do  so,  and  be  safely  in  ambush 
watching  him.  If  he  were  merely  to  enter  the 
house  for  a  conventional  call  she  could  do 
nothing,  and  might  slip  back  to  rejoin  Rosa, 
unseen.  But  she  counted  rather  confidently 
upon  what  she  had  ascertained  from  question- 
ing her  tool,  that  Miss  Winstanley  and  her 
friend  were  generally  to  be  found  out-doors 
at  this  hour  of  the  afternoon. 

The  sight  of  Clandonald  walking  unconcern- 
edly ahead  of  her,  twirling  the  Makila  stick, 
which  she  recognized  as  a  souvenir  of  their 
joint  visit  to  Biarritz,  was  as  fuel  to  her  flame. 
He  looked  so  young,  so  normally  vigorous,  so 
full  of  bounding  life ;  he  was  so  well  groomed, 
so  well  turned  out,  as  the  men  were  not  with 
whom  she  associated  in  the  present  phase  of 
her  existence.  How  long  it  was,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  her  talk  with  Glynn,  since  she  had 
held  converse  with  a  clean,  wholesome,  and 
courteous  gentleman! 

And  she  was  so  thin,  so  bloodless,  so  un- 
beautiful;  her  empire  over  his  sex  was  so 
nearly  gone,  she  had  so  little  left  to  hope  for ! 

The  immediate  result  of  this  contrast  be- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  301 

tween  herself  and  the  man  who  had  once  taken 
her,  for  better,  for  worse,  at  the  altar,  was  to 
make  Ruby  Darien  furiously  angry.  As  Clan- 
donald  passed  out  of  her  sight,  between  the 
ivied  walls  of  the  steeply  descending  street, 
she  felt  that  she  would  have  liked  to  spring 
upon  him  like  a  panther,  and — ah !  it  was  bet- 
ter that  he  had  passed  on! 

Clandonald,  as  has  been  said,  had  unex- 
pectedly stepped  in  through  an  arch  of  crim- 
son ramblers,  to  find  Posey,  whom  Helen  Car- 
stairs  had  just  left  to  go  in  to  write  her  let- 
ter to  Mariol,  weeping  alone,  and  lovelier  than 
even  he  had  remembered  her. 

If  Miss  Winstanley  had  been  on  her  guard, 
or  chatting  with  a  friend,  or  sitting  with  her 
book  and  looking  up  with  a  pleasant  smile  as 
he  drew  near,  Lord  Clandonald  might  not  have 
forgotten  himself,  as  he  now  unquestionably 
did! 

Without  a  moment's  forethought,  following 
out  the  impulse  one  has  to  console  a  child  whom 
one  finds  in  distressful  solitude,  he  made  tow- 
ard her  a  buoyant  movement,  taking  her  hand 
in  both  of  his,  and  dropping  upon  the  bench 
beside  her. 


302  LATTEK-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

In  her  present  period  of  believing  herself, 
as  it  were,  deserted  by  John  and  Helen,  who, 
so  fitted  for  one  another,  had,  figuratively, 
soared  away  out  of  her  ken  upon  a  rosy  cloud, 
the  girl  welcomed  Clandonald  with  lips  and 
eyes  too  eloquent  to  be  mistaken.  Feeling  that 
he  must  speak,  knowing  that  he  ought  to  choose 
his  words  most  carefully,  he  ended  by  doing 
nothing  of  the  kind. 

"  Oh,  please  don't  cry!  "  he  simply  said. 
"  You  are  too  dear  and  lovely  ever  to  shed 
a  tear!  If  you  were  mine " 

In  books  it  is  where  people  make  the  beau- 
tiful set  speeches  that  come  out  just  right  as 
to  semicolons  and  periods,  besides  fitting  ex- 
actly into  place  in  conversation.  In  real  life, 
under  strong  emotion,  things  are  said  brokenly 
that  often  have  neither  grammar,  rhyme  nor 
reason.  This  man  certainly  never  meant  to 
make  love  to  this  girl  out  of  a  clear  sky.  But 
his  voice,  his  face,  his  manner,  were  all  those 
of  a  lover  such  as  Posey  had  not  known  in  her 
brief  experience.  And  the  worst  of  it  was,  the 
same  unaccountable,  unbidden  feeling  of  de- 
light again  rushed  over  her  that  she  had  felt 
for  him  upon  the  ship.  It  seemed  sufficient 
for  him  to  be  near  her  for  that  to  tingle  in  her 


LATTEE-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  303 

veins !  She  thought  he  was  the  brightest,  no- 
blest object  her  eyes  had  ever  rested  upon, 
not  a  mere  faulty  man  idealized.  In  plain 
words,  "  the  old,  old  story  was  told  again  ': 
in  the  garden  of  Reine  des  Fees ! 

But  Posey  had  gained  in  self-control  since 
her  experience  of  the  world.  She  checked  the 
radiant  return  movement  toward  Clandonald, 
who,  also  pulling  himself  together,  guiltily 
arose  and  stood  at  some  distance  away  from 
her,  holding  his  hat  like  a  shy  schoolboy,  with- 
out saying  another  word. 

"I'm  not  crying,"  she  remarked,  somewhat 
untruthfully.  "  I'm  only  thinking  over  a  s-ad 
sort  of  talk  I've  just  had  with  my  friend,  Miss 
Carstairs,  who 's  staying  with  me,  as  you  know. 
She  told  me,  by  the  way,  you'd  been  so  nice 
to  her  on  the  journey,  and  so  had  M.  de  Mariol. 
We  were  sorry  to  miss  you  yesterday,  and 
are  looking  forward  to  the  dinner  this  even- 
ing. I  didn't  think  you  would  call  again  to- 
day." 

"  Neither  did  I,"  he  said,  "  but  when  it 
came  to  waiting  for  my  aunt's  dinner  hour 
I  had  to.  I  hope  you  won't  mind  my  taking 
the  short  cut  to  Paradise,  without  ringing  at 
your  front  door.  It  got  me  here  the  sooner, 


304  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

see?  And  as  my  aunt  had  happened  to  let 
fall  that  you  always  came  to  the  Orange  Walk 
about  this  time,  I  ventured  upon  the  liberty. 
But  I  didn't  dare  expect  such  good  luck  as 
finding  you  quite  alone." 

11  Helen  has  just  left  me,"  she  answered,  a 
little  confused  by  his  ardent  gaze.  "  I  can 
see  that  it  astonished  you  to  find  me  so  much 
grander  than  I  was.  But  for  me,  I'm  already 
used  to  it.  Oh !  Do  you  know,  I  had  the  great- 
est satisfaction  yesterday.  That  Mrs.  Vere- 
ker,  who  snubbed  me  so  on  the  ship,  you  re- 
member, and  that  stuffed  image  of  a  Mr. 
Brownlow,  were  both  lunching  at  the  Gold 
Club,  at  a  table  by  themselves ;  and  seeing  us 
with  some  people  they  thought  '  worth  while,' 
came  up  and  spoke  to  me,  almost  humbly !  ' 
"  How  did  you  treat  them  in  return?  ' 
"  I  said, '  Oh !  really.  Are  you  in  Cannes  ?  ' 
And  then  the  Grand  Duke  asked  me  some 
question,  and  I  turned  away  to  him.  If  the 
Grand  Duke  hadn't  happened  to  be  there  it 
would  have  been  no  fun  at  all.  You  see  how 
wicked  and  worldly  I  have  grown.  Then  Mr. 
Brownlow  asked  if  he  might  call  at  Villa  des 
Fees,  and  I  said  we  were  so  much  engaged  we 
hadn't  any  day  at  home.  Mrs.  Vereker  is 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  305 

dying  to  know  Lady  Campstown,  who  doesn't 
care  whether  she  meets  a  leader  in  New  York 
or  a  leader  in  Allison's  Cross  Roads.  I  won't 
ask  you  to  tell  me  about  your  travels,  for  dar- 
ling Lady  Campstown  has  read  me  every  line 
of  your  late  letters,  and  even  some  you  wrote 
her  as  a  boy.  I  know  how  you  stroked  the 
crew  of  that  splendid  boat-race  at  college, 
and  when  you  shot  the  lion  on  the  Upper  Nile, 
and  what  you  ate  in  South  Africa.  After  my 
talks  with  her  this  winter  I  used  to  go  home 
thinking  you  certainly  the  biggest  and  great- 
est and  bravest  person  in  the  world !  ' 

Her  girlish  raillery  seemed  to  him  the  most 
delicious  fooling.  He  tossed  his  hat  and  stick 
into  the  flower-border  behind  them,  and 
dropped  again  upon  the  bench  beside  her. 
Beside  the  cool  green  shadow  of  their  verdu- 
rous niche,  the  sunshine  seemed  to  lie  on  the 
marble  pavement  beyond,  like  a  slab  of  gold, 
the  mad  wind  whistling  outside  harmless.  And 
neither  noticed  that  Mrs.  Darien,  who  had  been 
standing  dark  with  menace,  still  as  Fate,  in 
the  shrubbery  at  their  rear,  had  leaned  over 
and  possessed  herself  of  the  dangerous  Makila 
stick. 


306  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

A  few  moments  later,  Glynn,  where  he  sat 
down  in  the  lower  garden,  heard  Posey  scream 
once,  then  silence. 

He  sprang  up  and  flew  to  the  spot  whence 
the  sound  issued,  some  under-gardeners  reach- 
ing it  at  the  same  time.  They  found  Miss 
Winstanley  upon  her  feet,  with  horror  in  her 
eyes,  Lord  Clandonald  endeavoring  to  lift 
from  the  ground  the  form  of  a  senseless  wom- 
an, his  right  arm  hanging  helpless,  an  ugly 
bleeding  wound  upon  his  brow. 

"  It's  all  right!  "  he  exclaimed  to  them 
grimly.  "  This  person  attacked  Miss  Win- 
stanley, and  I  caught  the  blow,  that's  all." 

"  Oh!  John,  John,  how  thankful  I  am  to  see 
you!  "  cried  Posey.  "  Help  Lord  Clandonald, 
please;  he  is  badly  hurt.  It  is  Mr.  Glynn, 
Lord  Clandonald,  and  for  my  sake  you  must 
let  him  serve  you." 

Clandonald,  wavering  upon  his  feet,  was 
glad  to  be  assisted  to  the  bench  where  they 
were  sitting  when  Mrs.  Darien  aimed  her 
deadly  blow.  But  he  retained  sufficient  un- 
derstanding to  thank  Glynn,  and  urge  on  him 
the  necessity  of  having  the  woman,  who  had 
been  evidently  overtaken  by  some  kind  of 
a  seizure,  removed  quietly  from  the  place,  and 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  307 

put  in  charge  of  Lady  Campstown — "  who  will 
understand. ' '  After  which  brief  direction,  he 
uttered  one  sigh,  and  fainted. 

So  Helen  found  the  little  group  whom 
tragedy  had  grazed !  Posey,  holding  Clandon- 
ald's  head  in  her  arms,  his  limp  body  lying 
across  the  seat!  Helen  was  carrying  in  her 
hand  the  letter  she  had  come  outside  to  show 
Posey,  in  fulfilment  of  her  promise  to  the 
girl — the  letter  to  Mariol,  telling  him  she 
would  be  his  wife ! 

To  her,  with  a  hurried  explanation  of  the 
affair  and  of  his  presence  there,  Glynn  con- 
signed Posey,  who  seemed  scarcely  conscious 
of  where  she  was  and  what  had  happened,  beg- 
ging Miss  Carstairs  to  take  her  to  her  room. 
Before  all  things,  it  was  desirable  that  Miss 
Winstanley's  name  should  be  kept  out  of  the 
business,  which  he  believed  would  end  favor- 
ably for  Clandonald.  Helen  led  her  away, 
obedient  as  a  child,  although  trembling  vio-. 
lently,  and  holding  her  hand  over  a  spot  upon 
the  breast  of  her  white  gown  where  Clandon- 
ald's  blood  had  stained  it. 

Glynn,  fetching  some  water  from  the  foun- 
tain, soon  brought  Mrs.  Darien's  victim  back 
to  consciousness.  Clandonald 's  first  act  was 


308  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

to  look  about  for  the  murderous  weapon,  and 
ask  Glynn  to  suppress  it ;  his  second  to  eagerly 
question  the  two  gardeners,  who,  having  borne 
Mrs.  Darien  away,  had  now  returned  with 
remedies  from  the  servants  at  Villa  Julia,  se- 
cured under  pretence  that  one  of  their  num- 
ber had  met  with  an  accident. 

"  Quant  a  la  dame,  milor,"  said  one  of 
these  men,  who  had  been  for  a  long  time  on 
the  place  and  knew  very  well  the  skeleton  in 
his  neighbor's  closet.  "  It  was  not  found 
necessary  to  trouble  Milady  Campstown  with 
her.  The  housemaid,  Rosa,  was  waiting  in 
the  cab,  much  frightened,  since  she  thought 
that  Madame  Darien  had  looked  exceedingly 
ill  when  she  went  into  the  garden  against 
Rosa's  advice.  Madame  Darien  had  revived 
and  bidden  the  men  assist  her  into  her  car- 
riage, and  the  housemaid  had  driven  off  with 
her  to  the  station.  It  was  not  needful  to  tell 
anyone  else  what  occurred,  since,  the  Virgin 
be  praised,  no  serious  harm  appeared  to  have 
been  done. 

Glynn,  whose  French  fell  short  in  moments 
of  emergency,  tried  to  explain  to  the  men  that 
his  and  Mr.  Winstanley's  gratitude  for  their 
excellent  service  and  consideration  would  con- 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  309 

tinue  to  be  remembered  substantially  in  pro- 
portion to  their  reticence  upon  the  subject. 
He  emphasized  it  by  a  transfer  of  gold  to  each 
brown  right  hand,  which  the  Provencals  re- 
ceived with  blushes  of  becoming  modesty. 

"  And  now,  you  will  go  back  to  your  work, 
comprehended  vous?  "  added  John,  "  leaving 
me  to  conduct  ce  monsieur  to  Villa  Julia,  ex- 
plaining that  a  branch  fell  from  a  tree  across 
his  cheek  and  arm!  ' 

Clandonald  smiled  wanly. 

"  That  will  do  for  a  stop-gap,"  he  said. 
"  But  I  have  my  fears  that  the  woman  who 
committed  this  unexplained  assault  will  again 
be  heard  from  on  the  subject.  I  fancy  you 
know,  Mr.  Glynn,  who  she  is,  and  that  Miss 
Winstanley  has  been  for  months  an  object  of 
her  virulence." 

"  I  should  tell  you,"  said  Glynn,  while  aid- 
ing him  to  get  upon  his  feet,  "  that  I  had  some 
experience  of  Mrs.  Darien  upon  my  former 
visit  to  Cannes.  I,  in  fact,  then  found  it  bet- 
ter to  go  to  her  lodgings  in  Nice,  and  try  to 
perfect  a  little  arrangement  for  Miss  Win- 
stanley's  protection.  That,  it  seems,  has 
failed." 

"  The  person  is  irresponsible,"  answered 


310  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

Clandonald,  a  dark  flush,  coming  into  his  face. 
"  And,  I  am  afraid,  incorrigible." 

"  All  the  same,  I  am  going  to  ask  your  per- 
mission to  interfere  so  far  as  to  look  her  up 
again  to-night." 

' '  You  know  that  is  what  I  most  want  ?  ' 
"  I  think  so.    I  put  myself  in  your  place." 
"  More  than  that  no  man  can  do  for  an- 
other," said  Clandonald  warmly. 

After  Glynn  had  gotten  him  into  his  own 
bedroom,  called  up  his  servant,  and  telephoned 
for  the  family  physician  of  Lady  Campstown 
(who,  herself,  remained  still  fortunately  ab- 
sent upon  her  round  of  calls) ,  they  parted  like 
friends  of  years. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THERE  was  no  little  dinner  at  Villa  Julia 
that  evening.  Clandonald,  wretched  and 
feverish,  tossed  upon  his  bed.  Posey's  white 
face  and  strained  expression  of  anxiety  kept 
the  other  villa  in  a  state  of  suspended  anima- 
tion while  Glynn,  in  the  motor  car,  was  run- 
ning over  to  Nice  on  business  not  stated. 

Helen  Carstairs  met  him  early  next  morn- 
ing upon  the  terrace,  at  his  request. 

"  How  has  she  slept?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  Like  a  tired  baby.  Toward  morning  she 
awoke  sobbing,  and  I  soothed  her  till  she  fell 
asleep  again.  Just  now,  when*I  went  into  her 
room  with  the  news  that  Lord  Clandonald  also 
had  passed  a  good  night,  she  was  very  much 
more  like  herself — gentle,  yet  plucky,  and  de- 
termined to  keep  up." 

"  I  hate  a  nervous  shock  for  an  impression- 
able woman.  Thank  God,  it  is  all  no  worse! 
Suppose  you  and  I  had  happened  not  to  be 
with  her — it  makes  me  sick  to  think  of  it! 


312  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

Helen,  this  isn't  the  time  to  beat  about  the 
bush  to  find  phrases.  Tell  me  the  honest 
truth.  Does  Posey  love  Clandonald?  ' 

"  I  think  so.  But  she  has  fought  against 
it  from  the  first.  Don't  let  your  sympathy  with 
her  at  this  moment  lead  you  to  any  rash  act  of 
renunciation.  She  is  so  young.  She  will  get 
over  it.  Besides,  she  has  told  me  most  posi- 
tively that  she  could  never  bring  herself  to 
marry  a  man  whose  divorced  wife  is  living." 

"  If  that  is  the  only  obstacle,  it  need  not 
count,"  said  Glynn  gravely.  "  The  woman 
who  called  herself  Mrs.  Darien  died  last  night 
— and  a  blessed  solution  it  is  to  a  miserable 
snarl.  She  went  back  with  the  housemaid  to 
her  hotel  in  Nice,  and  they  got  her  into  bed. 
By  the  time  I  reached  the  place  the  woman, 
crying  bitterly,  came  down  to  tell  me  '  her 
ladyship  '  was  dead.  It  was  apoplexy — the 
second  attack — precipitated  by  her  insane  pas- 
sion of  jealousy  of  Posey." 

"  Thank  Heaven,  it  wasn't  a  murder  she 
had  to  carry  with  her  into  eternity !  Our  poor 
darling,  Posey — if  that  horrid  flint  had  struck 
her  in  the  head  where  the  woman  aimed  to 
hit — I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it " 

"  Don't.    We  have  shaved  the  narrow  edge, 


LATTEE-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  313 

but  have  escaped.  Helen,  one  of  the  strangest 
things  that  ever  happened  to  me  was  that  Mrs. 
Darien  left  in  the  blotter  on  her  table  a  sealed 
letter  addressed  to  me.  I  took  possession  of 
it  by  showing  the  landlord  and  the  doctor  my 
visiting  card.  I  don't  know  what  they  thought 
of  me.  I  don't  much  care.  In  it  she  asked 
my  pardon  for  breaking  her  pledge  to  me. 
Said  she  was  tempted  beyond  resistance  to  re- 
turn to  Villa  Reine  des  Fees,  that  she  was  dead 
broke,  desperate,  expected  to  die  suddenly 
some  day,  and  wanted  me  to  know  that  if  she 
ever  could  have  gone  straight  again  it  was  be- 
cause of  the  way  I  had  trusted  her. ' ' 

"  But  your  trust  was  in  vain,"  said  Helen, 
with  the  hardness  of  most  good  women  to- 
ward bad  ones.  "  Therefore  I  can  feel  no  sen- 
timent for  her  but  one  of  thankfulness  that 
she  is  out  of  your  hands,  in  Higher  ones." 

They  walked  back  and  forth  for  a  few  mo- 
ments in  the  crisp  morning  air,  Nature  smiling 
as  she  always  does  after  the  poignant  scenes 
enacted  in  her  sight.  Mr.  Winstanley,  who 
was  having  his  breakfast  in  the  rose-wreathed 
loggia  upstairs,  and  from  whom  the  incident 
of  the  attack  on  Posey  had  been  kept,  saw 
them  and  waved  his  kind  hand  cordially. 


314  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

Glynn  stopped. 

"  It's  no  use,  Helen.  All  the  things  I  long 
for  upon  earth  would  lose  their  flavor  at  the 
cost  of  ingratitude  to  him.  Even  if  Posey 
does  believe  that  she  cares  most  for  Clandon- 
ald — and  if  you  had  heard  the  words  the  poor 
child  spoke  when  she  held  him,  without  life, 
bleeding,  against  her  heart,  you  would  not 
doubt  it — it  is  not  I  who  can  withdraw  from 
my  pledge  to  her." 

Helen  could  not  speak.  She  was  thinking 
of  that  letter  to  Mariol,  not  yet  sent.  Although 
she  felt  now  that  Glynn  meant  to  keep  to  his 
engagement  at  all  costs,  she  was  sure  she  could 
never  send  it;  that  Mariol's  brief  mirage  of 
winning  her  must  fade  into  the  desert  sands 
of  friendship,  if  he  would  be  content  with  that. 

During  the  days  that  ensued  she  kept  almost 
altogether  with  Posey,  who  was  not  allowed 
by  her  physician  to  leave  her  room.  And  as 
Helen  was  in  the  act  of  making  up  her  mind 
to  go  to  Paris  to  enter  as  a  boarder  in  the 
family  of  a  governess  of  former  days,  who 
now  gave  shelter  to  art  students  and  girls 
whose  voices  were  in  training  for  the  stage, 
she  received  a  startling  telegram. 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  315 

It  was  from  her  father  at  Taormina,  requir- 
ing her  presence  there  without  delay.  ' '  I  am 
alone  and  ill,"  were  the  magic  words  that  sent 
her  speeding  back  to  him,  to  find  the  hapless 
gentleman  deserted  by  his  wife,  whose  affair 
with  Danielson  had  ended  in  guilty  flight! 
Aged,  mortified,  broken,  clinging  to  Helen  in 
his  humiliation,  Mr.  Carstairs  had  yet  made 
short  work  of  ridding  himself  of  the  unwel- 
come visitors  who  had  preyed  upon  his  money, 
while  deriding  him  for  a  blind  old  fool  not  to 
have  seen  before  the  condition  of  affairs.  In 
the  flotsam  of  the  wreck  Miss  Bleecker,  too, 
floated  off,  Helen  refusing  to  see  her  or  listen 
to  explanations,  and  Mr.  Carstairs  making 
short  work  of  her  prayer  to  be  allowed  to  re- 
main with  poor  darling  Helen  in  this  awful 
time. 

At  last,  then,  she  was  again  alone  with  her 
father,  free  to  cheer  and  comfort  his  life  with 
her  best  endeavors,  a  new  object  given  to  her 
for  daily  care  and  sacred  ministration.  Mr. 
Carstairs  would  not  hear  of  dallying  in  the 
hateful  spot  where  his  shame  had  come  to 
him.  He  insisted  that  the  "  Sans  Peur  ': 
should  take  them  to  an  English  port,  whence 
they  might  embark  immediately  for  home. 


316  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

And  Helen  had  reluctantly  to  acknowledge 
that  the  only  medicine  for  a  wrong  and  grief 
like  his  was  a  return  to  the  life  of  great  af- 
fairs, in  which  he  was  signally  a  leader. 

At  Liverpool,  where  she  had  landed  so  list- 
lessly the  previous  autumn,  Miss  Carstairs  re- 
ceived a  letter  of  loving  farewell  and  God- 
speed from  Posey  Winstanley  at  Cannes.  The 
girl  could  not  keep  out  of  her  phrases  of  affec- 
tion the  note  of  common  sense,  which  made 
Helen's  humiliating  experience  a  subject  of 
ultimate  rejoicing  by  her  friends.  She  was 
sure  that  Helen  was  going  home  to  new  hap- 
piness, new  occupation,  a  generally  broaden- 
ing horizon.  In  the  continual  circling  of  mod- 
erns around  this  little  globe  the  friends  were 
sure  to  meet  again, '"  early  and  often,"  Posey 
prayed.  She  had  entirely  regained  her  health, 
the  weather  was  getting  piping  hot,  Reine  des 
Fees  was  too  dreadfully  dull  now  that  dear 
John  Glynn  had  gone  back  "  for  good  "  to  his 
office  in  New  York;  even  Lady  Campstown 
had  been  taken  off  by  Lord  Clandonald  for  a 
visit  to  Beaumanoir ;  and  lastly — it  was  on  the 
cards  that  Mr.  Winstanley  and  Posey  might 
also  soon  go  to  make  acquaintance  with  Eng- 
land in  the  Spring. 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  317 

No  word  of  her  marriage.  While  Helen  was 
pondering  upon  this  theme  a  steward  brought 
her  another  letter  that  had  been  taken  out  of 
a  later  mail-bag.  It  was  a  mot  d'adieu  from 
Lady  Campstown,  containing,  among  other 
items  of  information,  a  statement  that  Posey 's 
wecfiding  was  "  indefinitely  postponed." 

The  perennial  Miss  Bleecker,  although 
smarting  still  under  the  contemptuous  dis- 
missal given  her  by  Mr.  Carstairs  at  Taor- 
mina,  was  next  seen  that  Spring  at  Cadenab- 
bia,  hanging  on,  rather  miserably,  to  the  skirts 
of  Mrs.  Vereker.  The  two  ladies,  waiting 
there  for  Mr.  Vereker  (who  had  been  walk- 
ing barefoot  at  Brixen,  in  wet  grass),  were 
heard  to  bicker  continually,  to  the  discomfort 
of  all  within  earshot.  In  due  time  they  were 
joined  by  and  accompanied  Mr.  Vereker  to 
a  new  cure  he  had  heard  of,  at  a  place  in 
Switzerland,  where  the  regime  consisted  of 
skim  milk  and  electricity. 

The  hotel  which  sheltered  the  party  proved 
to  be  situated  upon  a  sylvan  hill-top,  sur- 
rounded by  a  park  stocked  with  tame  deer, 
with  "  Verboten  "  placarded  over  every  spot 
where  one  most  desired  to  go.  A  merry  Swiss 


318  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

lad  was  hired  by  the  management  to  jodel  in 
an  adjacent  grove,  but  there  were  no  visible 
cows.  One  beheld,  instead,  a  flock  of  theatri- 
cal sheep,  perpetually  conducted  up  and  down 
verdant  slopes  by  a  shepherd  and  a  dog.  Also, 
a  band  of  native  singers,  the  men  in  tweeds 
and  Derby  hats,  the  women  in  custom-made 
blouses  and  gored  skirts,  who  came  often  to 
warble  disconsolately  upon  the  terrace.  There 
was  even  a  cuckoo  sequestered  in  the  woods, 
of  which  Miss  Bleecker  snappishly  com- 
plained, as  a  horrid  clock,  striking  all  out  of 
order  to  wake  people  up  at  5  A.M.,  until  some 
one  told  her  it  was  the  genuine  bird  of  Shakes- 
peare, when  she  called  it  a  darling  little  thing. 

For  a  long,  long  time  it  rained  at  this  resort, 
and  the  guests  sat  on  damp  iron  chairs  in  the 
veranda  and  looked  at  where  the  view  had 
been  some  weeks  before.  After  that  it  was 
grilling  hot,  and  as  Mrs.  Vereker  and  Miss 
Bleecker  were  obliged  to  stay  on  for  the  com- 
pletion of  Mr.  Vereker 's  treatment,  the  tem- 
per of  the  party  became  something  too  awful 
for  words. 

The  chief  solace  of  the  two  ladies  was  to 
read  French  novels  and  English  weekly  news- 
papers. When  the  "  Queen ';  published, 


LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS  319 

among  "  Americans  in  London,"  a  picture  of 
the  beautiful  Miss  Winstanley  in  her  presen- 
tation gown,  describing  the  glories  of  its 
"  white  and  silver,  with  lilies-of-the- valley 
bunched  around  the  train,"  together  with  de- 
tails of  the  young  lady's  success  in  the  fashion- 
able world  under  the  sponsorship  of  Lady 
Campstown,  Miss  Bleecker  may  have  been 
said  to  have  received  her  punishment  for 
many  follies  in  the  past. 

A  perfect  day  of  early  July  saw  the  visit 
of  Miss  Winstanley  and  her  father  to  Beau- 
manoir,  so  long  projected  and  so  rudely  inter- 
rupted, at  last  an  accomplished  fact.  Lady 
Campstown,  who  had  taken  up  her  residence 
with  her  nephew  under  the  supposition  that 
he  still  needed  her  care,  sat  outside,  after 
luncheon,  with  Mr.  Winstanley,  between  whom 
and  herself  an  excellent  comradeship  had 
sprung  up.  She  saw  nothing  odd  in  the  old 
fellow's  quaint  manners,  his  homely  exterior, 
his  shyness  and  reverence  toward  women.  She 
had  always  liked  his  having  come  out  of  the 
Southern  rather  than  the  Northern  portion 
of  the  States,  feeling,  somehow,  more  in  touch 
with  people  from  below  the  fabled  line  of 
Mason  and  Dixon  than  with  their  aggres- 


320  LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS 

sively  prosperous  neighbors.  She  liked  his 
showing  nothing  of  his  wealth  and  potential- 
ity, and  enjoyed  his  shrewd  talk.  Above  all, 
it  must  be  said  she  liked  him  for  being  the 
progenitor  of  Posey,  who  had  finally  wound 
herself  and  tangled  herself  in  the  dowager's 
heart-strings,  not  to  be  dislodged. 

They  had  been  talking  of  the  girl,  and  the 
fact  that  despite  her  brilliant  little  sortie  into 
London  society,  she  did  not  look  quite  happy 
— quite  herself. 

"  It  will  be  as  well  for  her  when  it  is  all 
over,"  said  Lady  Campstown,  plying  her 
knitting-pins.  "  But  I  don't  think  it's  done 
her  real  harm  to  have  seen  things  the  way  we 
do  them.  And  another  year,  perhaps — who 
knows?  There  are  always  changes."  She 
ended  with  a  sigh. 

"  If  you  are  alluding  to  my  daughter's  mar- 
riage, ma'am,"  said  Herbert  Winstanley, 
speaking  with  authority  and  swallowing  a 
lump  of  final  disappointment,  "  I  was  want- 
ing a  chance  to  tell  you  that  she's  about  con- 
cluded that  John  Glynn  and  she  will  be  better 
friends  than  lovers.  I  had  been  suspecting 
something  of  the  kind  when  she  told  me — on 
the  Fourth  it  was,  and  I  had  to  laugh  when 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  321 

she  said  she  chose  that  day  on  account  of 
George  Washington  and  the  cherry  tree,  be- 
cause she  couldn't  tell  a  lie.  That's  Posey, 
Lady  Campstown.  Always  a  laugh  on  her  lip 
when  a  tear  is  in  her  eye.  I  saw  how  hard  it 
went  with  her  to  have  to  rob  me  of  a  dear  hope. 
But  I  reckoned  if  her  mother 'd  been  living 
it'd  not  have  been  let  go  so  far.  It's  a  hard 
thing  for  a  man  of  my  age  to  play  on  a  little 
delicate  musical  instrument  like  a  girl's  heart. 
It's  over,  anyhow,  and  she's  written  giving 
Glynn  his  freedom.  I  think  Posey  would  like 
you  to  know  these  circumstances,  ma'am,  see- 
ing you  're  the  best  substitute  for  a  mother  the 
little  girl  has  had.  She  doesn't  want  you  to 
think  her  light  or  triflin'  in  such  things;  she 
tried  hard  to  be  loyal  to  him  and  me.  .  .  . 
But  even  if  she'd  loved  John  well  enough  to 
be  his  wife,  there  was  an  obstacle.  He  had 
kept  company  with  another  young  lady  first, 
and  they'd  been  separated  by  his  being  poor. 
.  .  .  I  presume  you'll  agree  that  a  young 
fellow  who  'd  once  been  in  love  with  Miss  Helen 
Carstairs  couldn't  find  giving  her  up  as  easy 
as  it  seemed." 

"  So  that's  the  meaning  of  it  all?  "  cried 
her  ladyship,  dropping  her  knitting,  which 


322  LATTER-DAY   SWEETHEARTS 

the  Schipperke  proceeded  to  guard  as  if  it 
were  a  Dutch  baby  asleep  in  a  canal-boat.  "  I 
often  wondered,  but  could  not  be  sure.  I  al- 
most thought  it  was  M.  de  Mariol." 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  think  that  would  suit, 
exactly,"  said  the  old  man,  cautiously  nod- 
ding his  Anglo-Saxon  head.  "  Not  but  what 
he's  a  nice  man,  the  Monseer.  But,  as  things 
look  now,  my  boy  is  a  better  match  for  Mr. 
Carstairs'  daughter,  and  John '11  feel  more 
sure  of  himself  to  ask  her  again.  She 's  had  a 
hard  time,  that  sweet  lady,  and  I  wish  her 
many  years  of  happiness  to  forget  it  in.  You 
see,  ma'am,  my  Posey  thinks  John  will  ask 
her  again." 

Lady  Campstown,  who  had  long  since  re- 
signed herself  to  see  the  vision  of  Helen  at 
Beaumanoir  fade  from  her  imagination,  here 
felt  a  great  new  jet  of  hope  spring  up  in  her 
heart  and  water  everything  around  it.  Her 
withered  cheek  glowed  rosy  red,  her  eyes  had 
a  girlish  lustre.  She  hardly  presumed  to  put 
her  thoughts  into  words,  and  yet  the  mild  blue 
orbs  of  old  Mr.  Winstanley  had  fixed  them- 
selves upon  hers  with  a  singular  significance. 

"  Mr.  Winstanley!  You  have  another 
idea?  "  she  exclaimed,  nervously  trembling. 


LATTER-DAY  SWEETHEARTS  323 

"  Several,  ma'am,"  said  Herbert  Winstan- 
ley.  "  You  know  by  this  time,  I  reckon,  that 
your  nephew  got  that  bad  hurt  on  the  cheek 
and  just  missed  losing  his  eyesight,  to  save 
Posey  from  a  mad  woman.  Girls  set  store  by 
such  experiences,  I  suppose.  But  long  ago, 
on  the  steamer,  I  saw  she  fancied  him  might- 
ily. ...  I  won't  conceal  from  you,  ma'am, 
it  isn't  what  I'd  have  picked  out  for  Posey. 
Doesn't  seem  suitable  for  such  a  Hail  Colum- 
bia sort  of  girl,  now,  does  it?  But  Clandon- 
ald's  a  white  man,  I '11  say  that  for  him.  .  .  . 
And  m'  wife  set  a  great  store  by  English  peo- 
ple and  their  homes.  .  .  .  They're  stay- 
ing away  a  good  long  time,  those  young  folks. 
.  .  .  The  doctors  threaten  I '11  have  to  spend 
my  winters  in  Cannes,  the  years  that  are  left 
to  me,  but  I  reckon  Villa  Rain  des  Pays  is  big 
enough  for  us  all. ' ' 

When  Clandonald  and  Posey  came  back  at 
last  from  seeing  the  white  peacocks  they  were 
walking  hand  in  hand,  and  a  great  peace  had 
settled  upon  their  faces. 

THE  END 


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i 

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HELEN  TROY 

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A  TRIPLE  ENTANGLEMENT 

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